Embers
by snixxlixx
Summary: Brittana AU. You save lives every day, never hesitating to run into the flames. But the girl with the ember eyes, she ignites something in you that you never knew you were missing: love. Firefighter!Brittany.
1. The Girl with the Ember Eyes

**Hey guys!  
** **This is an AU Brittana story in the point of view of Brittany, who is a firefighter in New York. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Glee characters in this story, but all ideas are original (some may be influenced by NBC's Chicago Fire)**

* * *

It's the last hour of your shift and you really hope you don't get another call.

It's been, without a doubt, one of your most strenuous shifts in a while. At the crack of dawn there's an empty bomb threat at Grand Central, conveniently during the commuting hour, and you have to evacuate _everyone_. You get called in for six fires in total, more than you can ever remember for a single shift, and it's grueling.

But, you love what you do. You take the long hours, the danger, and the exhaustion without complaint, because it's worth it. It's _so_ worth it, when you're able to save someone. When you carry them out of a burning building, and hear the cries of relief from their family and friends. It puts a smile on your face, no matter how tough the day is, to know that you've helped someone.

As you walk into the common room to grab something to eat, you can't help but roll your eyes when you see Mike and Sam playing blindfolded ping-pong. Puck and Finn root them on like they're watching the Superbowl, and you laugh when Sam swings and completely misses the ball.

"I hope you're not making fun of me, sis." Sam jokes as he lifts the bandana from his eyes.

You shrug and shoot your half-brother a grin. "We might share some genes, but you definitely didn't get the hand-eye coordination." He feigns a gasp and crosses his arms, giving you a playful glare.

"I'll have you know that I scored the winning run in the softball game against the NYPD last year." He puffs out his chest a little and nods his head.

"And I hit the double that drove you in." You open the fridge and pull out a yogurt. "Nice try, Sammy, but you're really no match."

The other three guys laugh at Sam, who pouts like a little kid. Mike comes up to you and gives you a high-five.

"Nice one, Pierce." You smile at your best friend. You don't have a lot of friends, with your kind of job, but the ones you have mean the world to you.

You're about to respond when you hear the alarm. _Engine 18, Ambulance 32, multiple vehicle accident on 38th and Madison._ You groan and put your yogurt back in the fridge.

"Time to suit up."

* * *

When you arrive at the scene, three police cars are already there. Mike pulls the truck to a stop and you hop out with the boys.

Blaine, your Lieutenant, jogs up to one of the officers. 'What are we looking at?" The officer runs a hand through his hair.

"A four car pileup." He glances toward the scene. "Some idiot ran a red light and the car in front slammed on his brakes, causing the other three to crash into him from behind." Mike fills in Chief Schuester, who gets to the scene just after you. You see glass, so much shattered glass, surrounding the cars. You hope the injuries aren't too severe, you've seen the damage that car accidents can do.

"Okay everyone, listen up." Chief scans the team. "Puckerman, Hudson, break the cars up. Anderson, Pierce, Chang, get the drivers out. Evans and Lynn, you're on crowd duty." The five of you run to the cars while Sam and Ryder go off to control the crowd.

You take the car in the front while Mike takes the one behind. The driver's side window is shattered, but the man inside is conscious.

"Hey there, what's your name?" you ask him, taking note of the bleeding on the left side of his temple.

"B...Brandon" he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

You put your hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to get you out of here, Brandon. Just sit tight, okay?"

Kurt, the head paramedic, comes up next to you. "He could have spinal damage, I need to get a neck brace on him before you get him out." You stand back while Kurt fits the brace around his neck, and he finally clears you.

The door is jammed, so you take your axe and wedge it into the crack. After taking a deep breath, you pull as hard as you can and pry the door open.

"Alright Brandon, I'm going to help you out now. Do you think you can walk?" you ask, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"I think so, yeah." he responds.

"That's great." You look him in the eyes. "Okay, very slowly, I want you to move your legs out of the car." He complies, and you put your hands around his waist.

"I'm going to help lift you out now. You're doing great, Brandon." You slowly pull him out, and you feel his feet land on the ground. Kurt wheels a stretcher over to the car and the two of you lift Brandon onto it.

"Thank you so much." He manages a small smile, and you return it. "I hope you have a speedy recovery." you tell him, and Kurt wheels him to the ambulance.

* * *

After the call, and a long shower, you're done with your shift. You really just want to go home and sleep, but when Mike pleads for you to get a drink with everyone, you can't say no. Puck insists on going to a different bar than usual, claiming he wants "something other than the same chicks". You roll your eyes but appease him, and you drive up to a bar on 49th.

It's not too crowded, surprisingly, and the boys are sitting at a booth. Mike calls you over, but you tell him you're getting a drink at the bar. You love the guys, but occasionally you need a break from the testosterone.

You notice her right away when you sit down. She's pouring a drink, and she's beautiful. She's wearing a partly opened button button-down shirt, and a pair of shredded jean shorts. You've been to a lot of bars, and you've seen a lot of bartenders, but never one like her. One whose dark hair perfectly frames her face, who moves so gracefully behind the counter. You're mesmerized, and when she comes over to you, you haven't even thought about what you're going to order.

"Hey, what can I get for you?" She smiles, and _god_ , she's pretty. Her eyes seem to glow like embers, and you feel like you're on fire under her gaze.

"I'm sort of feeling something fruity, it's been a tiring day." you tell her, and she laughs.

"I know just the thing, hold on a sec." She goes back and mixes a few things, you're not sure what, and in a minute she presents the drink to you with a smile.

Keeping your eyes locked on hers, you take a sip. A burst of tropical flavors hit you at once, and you're pretty shocked.

"This," You put the glass down. "Is amazing." She blushes, but gives you a grin.

"It's a passion fruit mojito. One of my favorites." she says, and holds out her hand. "I'm Santana, by the way."

You take her hand and shake it, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster when you make contact. "I'm Brittany."

She moves away to dry some glasses, but keeps talking to you. "So, Brittany, what do you do that wears you out so much?"

"I'm a firefighter. It's tiring every day, but today was crazier than usual."

She stops what she's doing and looks at you, her brown eyes wide with surprise. "A firefighter?"

"What, a girl can't be a firefighter?" you ask, and you throw in a wink so she knows you're teasing.

Santana laughs. "I bet you're amazing at it, I was just surprised because most firefighters I've met are kind of mean." She comes up to you and smiles. "But you seem really nice."

Your cheeks heat up. You're not sure if she's flirting with you, but you really hope so. "Most of them just try to act all tough, but they're really not."

She sees that you've finished your drink and she clears it. "Can I get you another?"

"Unfortunately no, I probably have to drive some of those idiots home." You gesture over to the booth where the boys are downing shots. "But thank you so much for this, it was just what I needed." You're not sure if you're talking about the drink or her, or maybe both. "How much do I owe you?"

She waves your question off. "Don't worry about it, it's on the house."

"Thank you, Santana, wow… that's really nice." You're pretty sure you haven't smiled this much in a long time, and that's saying a lot, since you're you.

She suddenly looks sort of nervous, and she wrings her hands. "Brittany, um… I don't normally do this, and I don't even know if you like girls, but I was wondering if you'd let me take you out sometime."

You feel like your heart is about to jump out of your chest, because this gorgeous girl is actually asking you out. You don't meet many people, with the long shifts that you work, and you can't remember the last time you went on a date. A real date, not just a hookup that the boys pressure you into after a long day. You're so nervous, and so excited, and _of course_ you'll say yes.

You reach out and grab her hand. "I'm very much into girls, and I'd really like that."

She sighs, you think, in relief, and her smile is radiant. Her dimples might be the cutest things you've ever seen. "Really?"

"Definitely." You grab a pen out of your bag and scribble your phone number on a napkin. "I have to get these guys home, but I can't wait."

Santana's eyelashes flutter under the dim light. "Keep saving lives, firefighter."

You wave and throw her a wink.

When you make your way back to the guys, most of them are completely wasted. Puck gives you a sloppy grin.

"How'd it go with the hot bartender?" he slurs, and you laugh.

"I have a date, while all _you_ guys are getting are serious hangovers." They all laugh, and Mike smiles at you.

'I haven't ever seen you agree to a date that quickly, Pierce." he says, and you really haven't. But she's different, she's special.

"There's a spark between us, I can feel it." you tell him, and you've never been more sure of anything.


	2. Clarity Among the Smoke

When you're inside a burning building, surrounded by smoke and flames, your head is surprisingly clear.

Search and Rescue has become almost second nature for you now. You know you're not invincible, despite your protective bunker gear. But you almost feel calm, among the panic. You feel like you're completely in control of what you're doing, even when you're in an extremely out-of-control fire. You can't explain it.

Maybe that's why your colleagues, lieutenants, Chief Schuester, they all tell you how good you are at your job. Hearing the positive feedback is helpful for you, or at least you think, especially when people are still skeptical because you're a woman.

When you're called for the first fire of the shift, at a quaint restaurant next to Bryant Park, Chief tells you and Blaine that you're going in. You look at Blaine; it's hard for you to call him Lieutenant, he's been your friend for years. He meets your eyes and you both nod, a silent way of saying "I've got your back" as you prepare to enter the flaming establishment.

Blaine leads the way in, and you're right behind him. You're thankful it's still early, that customers wouldn't be there for several hours. The smoke is thick, and the heat that you've grown used to still overwhelms you a bit as you first walk inside.

"Fire Department, call out!" Blaine yells, so that potential victims know you're there. Neither of you hear a response, so Blaine signals that he's going left, and you turn to the right and begin your course.

You can't remember ever losing your focus in a fire; you're always on high alert, when someone's life is at stake. But your mind drifts the slightest bit, as you maneuver between fallen tables and chairs. Tonight's your date with Santana. Santana, the stunning bartender who texted you last night to confirm your date, asking for your address, so that she can pick you up at seven.

You're hardly paying attention when you stumble on something, and it jolts you back into reality. It's a body, a woman in her thirties, and you're back in action.

"Hello? Ma'am, can you hear me?" you ask, tapping on her chest. You don't get a response, so you put your fingers up to her throat and check for a pulse.

She's got a pulse. It's faint, but it's there. Leaping into action, you remove your breathing apparatus and fit it around her head. You pick her up and hold her in front of you as you retreat to the door. As quickly as you can, you dodge the flaming tables and carry her to the exit.

As soon as you burst through the entrance, you take a large gulp of air. Kurt and Tina are waiting with a stretcher, and they remove your mask from her face before replacing it with one of their own.

Tina gives you a small smile. "Nice work, Brittany. Another minute or two in there and she'd be gone."

You sigh in relief. It's lucky that you found her, considering how out of it you were. You look at Chief, about to ask if you should go back in, when Blaine comes out alone.

"It's all clear in there. Good job, Pierce." he praises, and you nod.

"You too."

You manage to suppress all of your Santana thoughts for the rest of your shift, though it's difficult. You don't go on any Search and Rescues for the rest of the day, at your silent request, and the shift seems to be endless.

You're eating lunch with Mike and Tina when you hear the loud sound of a slamming door. The three of you wince at the noise, and you look to the entrance to see what the cause was. When you see the person marching in, you, along with Mike and Tina, slink down in unison.

Standing in the doorway, in all of her terrifying glory, is Deputy Chief Sue Sylvester.

Somehow, even blonde-haired and blue-eyed like you, she's the most intimidating person you've ever laid eyes on. Her eyes are like sharp icicles, and she glares at each firefighter like they're a stone-cold killer.

"Alright, you incompetent clowns," she declares, narrowing her eyes at Sam and Puck who had previously been throwing pretzels into each other's mouths. "Where's your shit-headed ringleader?"

Everyone stares wide-eyed, frozen under her icy glare. Thankfully, Chief Schue appears in the common room before anyone has to respond.

"What can I do for you, Sue?" he asks, sounding calm, but you know that he's nervous. Everyone is, when Sue Sylvester is staring them down.

"That's Deputy Chief Sylvester to you, Schuester. You and I need to have a little talk about the way that you've been running this crappy excuse of a firehouse."

Chief Schue closes his eyes and runs a hand over his forehead. "Can we take this to my office?"

"No, we can do it right here. Your squad of losers can listen in, maybe something will get into their pea-sized brains." She grabs Finn's bottle of water out of his hand as he's taking a sip and throws it in the trash can.

"What did we do, Sue?" Chief Schue is mad now, you see it in his eyes, and his body turns rigid.

"Well, Schuester, you must know by now that I'm in the running for Fire Chief of this fine city," Sue muses as she paces the common room.

"And what does that have to do with Firehouse Forty-Seven?"

Sue stops her pacing and puts her hands on her hips. "If I'm going to get the job, all of my houses need to be perfect. And yours, Schuester, is even more pathetic than that mop on top of your head."

You've never seen Chief Schue so livid. He has so much pride for the house, and he cares about all of you like you're his children.

"Get out of my firehouse." He says it with a surprising amount of self control, but he grips the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles are white.

"I'd expect some more respect, considering I'm your superior, shithead." Sue's smirk turns into a sneer, and she walks up to Chief Schue. "You'll regret messing with me, Schuester, just you wait."

No one's eyes leave Sue until she's out the door in a huff. Chief Schue slinks down into a chair and he rubs his hands up the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, guys." Schue gazes around the room. "Deputy Chief Sylvester and I have a history that goes way back, and she's had it out for me for a long time."

"We've got your back, Chief," Blaine states, and everyone nods in agreement. Chief Schue releases a small smile and he straightens up in his chair.

"We're a family, here at Forty-Seven. And I'm not gonna let anyone ruin that," Schue says with conviction. The whole room lets out a deafening cheer, and you couldn't feel prouder to be part of something so special.

You get back to your apartment at five-fifteen, and you're glad you picked out your outfit ahead of time. It had taken you an hour to find the right dress and shoes, and although you're pretty sure Santana wouldn't care what you wear, you just want the night to be perfect.

By six-fifty-five you've showered, put on your dress, which is a dark shade of purple, and finished your hair and makeup. You stop, just for a moment, and look yourself over in the mirror. You think you clean up pretty well, for a firefighter.

The doorbell rings, and the nerves that you had fought all day begin to surface. You're not sure if you're dressed too fancy, or not fancy enough, and your heart beats rapidly.

When you open the door she's standing there, with a soft smile, and she's breathtaking. Her dress is red, a color you think was made just for her, by the way she wears it so perfectly. You hear her sharp intake of breath, and her eyes seem to glow brighter.

"Brittany, wow… you look beautiful."

You've heard your fair share of _hot,_ and _smokin'_ , especially after you say you're a firefighter and they try to be funny. Sometimes a _pretty_ , if they're nice. But _beautiful_ , you never hear that. And the way she says it so honestly, so caught off guard, you truly believe it.

"So do you, Santana." You're grinning, you can't help it, and her smile grows.

"This might be super cheesy, but these are for you." She pulls out a small bouquet of lilies and daffodils from behind her back, and you swoon.

"You"–you take the flowers from her hand–"are the sweetest." She gives you a dimple smile, and you quickly go into your kitchen to put the flowers in a vase.

When you come back, she's admiring the pictures that line your walls. Most of them are of you with Mike, or Sam, or any of your friends at the firehouse.

"You seem really close with them," Santana observes, and you nod. She's looking at a photo of the whole house, where you and Sam are being held up by everyone else. It was the day the two of you completed your candidacy and were offered permanent jobs at 47. You and Sam had been twenty-three, the two youngest candidates ever to become firefighters at the house.

"We're a family." You leave it at that, but she can see the wistful smile on your face. "Hard to believe this was five years ago."

Santana tells you that the restaurant is close to your apartment, so you walk, at your suggestion. It's a warm night, and it lets you spend more time with her.

As you're walking, in a comfortable silence, you feel the urge to hold her hand. You're never shy about physical contact, but you don't know if it's proper first date etiquette to–fuck it. You grab her hand, and you're glad that you do. She looks at you, a smile forming on her lips, and she laces her fingers with yours.

You walk the rest of the way to the restaurant with your intertwined hands swinging between you. When you arrive, you can't help but smile. How Santana managed to guess one of your favorite restaurants, you're not sure.

"How'd you know that I love this place?" you ask, and she laughs.

"I had no idea, but it's one of my favorites too."

The hostess seats you at a secluded table by the window, and by the way Santana gives you a sly smile, you're sure she planned it. You share a bottle of wine, that you let her choose, because, as you tell her with a wink, she's the expert.

The two of you converse as easily as you would with your best friends, even though you've just met. You tell her all about your job, and she smiles, she smiles so much, and she tells you that she's in awe of what you do. You blush when she says that, because although you hear it a lot, she says it with so much admiration.

You talk about Mike, how he'd taken you under his wing when you were a candidate, and you'd become the best of friends. You explain that Sam is your half-brother, because your mother and his father had died when you were both young, and your parents married each other when you were both ten years old. She squeezes your hand on the table when you tell her about your father, a fire chief where you had grown up, and how he was the reason that you and Sam had joined the fire academy.

Santana talks about her two best friends: Quinn, who was, as Santana calls it, her "partner in crime" in high school, and Rachel, the "annoying and vertically challenged" girl in her music theory class that she takes on Tuesday mornings. You listen intently as she tells you that her dream has always been to be a singer, but that it hasn't worked out yet. When you tell her that it's not too late, and that you'd really like to hear her sing sometime, she grins at you, and you get the feeling that she doesn't hear that too often.

The night ends all too quickly, and you take your time walking back, her hand tangled in yours. The city lights twinkle around you, and you never want it to end. But eventually you reach your doorstep, and she walks you up the steps.

"I had a really great time tonight," Santana says with a smile, as she turns to face you, and her dark eyes reflect the soft light from the doorway.

"So did I," you tell her, and you really did. There's something about her, something that you're drawn to, like a moth to a flame. "If you'll let me, I'd like to take you out next time."

"Someone's confident," she teases, but she gives you a dimple smile and grabs both of your hands. "I'd love that."

You want to kiss her; she's radiant, in the streetlight, and you suddenly feel the need to be closer to her.

You pull her towards you, and her eyes flicker with realization. She knows, she knows. You bring your trembling hand up to her cheek, slowly, and softly caress her jaw.

She looks at you, eyes glowing, before they flutter closed as she rests her thumbs on your cheeks.

When she presses her lips to yours, you're enclosed in blazing fire, the flames releasing serenity within you. You move your lips with hers, and all you feel is her; white-hot and beautiful.

When she softly releases her lips from yours, slightly out of breath, you lean your forehead on hers.

"Goodnight, firefighter," she whispers, and she quickly presses her lips to yours before she's off in the night.

Unable to wipe the smile off of your face, you slowly close the door behind you, and sigh in contentment.

She's ignited something in you, and you don't want to let it go.


	3. A Tinder Heart

**Thank you for the reviews!**

 **Onto part three…**

* * *

Not even the broken coffee maker could ruin your mood.

A permanent smile has been on your face for the whole morning, to the confusion of the rest of the house. While everyone else grumbles over their deprivation of caffeine, you feel more awake and energetic than usual. The only one who gives you a smile in return is Mike, who knows how excited you are.

You've been asking for weeks, and finally, Santana agreed to let you give her a tour of the firehouse. She was hesitant, at first, because she knows how much your house means to you, and you've only been dating for a month. But you know she's excited, she's told you as much, when you promised that you'd put on your gear for her.

You don't have a label, not yet. You're content with the routine that you've found with her. You go to her bar after every shift. If it's not busy, Santana makes you a drink and you talk, about everything and nothing, until she finishes work at ten. On the busy nights you're content to just watch her work, making small talk with the people next to you, as she gracefully moves around the bar and tends to the crowd.

During the weekends, you've been taking each other on dates and exploring the city. You've discovered that despite both having lived in New York for several years, neither of you have properly visited the tourist attractions.

The two of you take the water taxi out to the Statue of Liberty one day, wearing sunglasses and overpriced foam liberty crowns. You go to Central Park to visit Strawberry Fields and have a picnic by the reservoir, where you feed your sandwich crusts to the ducks (at Santana's insistence, after you tell her that they're your favorite animal). Another day, you go to the top of the Empire State Building and get pictures together in front of the city skyline. When you're leaving, you hold out your hand to her and ask, "Shall we?" in your best Tom Hanks impression. Santana laughs and calls you a dork, but takes your hand and shyly admits that it's one of her favorite movies.

You're happy, and you're not in a rush to label it. You've threatened the guys, telling them to be nice to Santana when she comes, or you'll "accidentally" break the television in the common room.

It's a dull shift, thankfully, so you won't be sweaty and dirty when Santana arrives. You text her, asking if she'll bring you a coffee, since the machine is broken. When she replies quickly, an _of course_ with a smiley face, you can't stop the butterflies in your chest, ones that are always present when you think about her.

You're playing a round of Euchre with Mike, Sam and Tina when the door opens. It's Santana, carrying a tray full of coffees in each hand, and you can't help but shake your head at her thoughtfulness. She's wearing shorts with a blue Mets sweatshirt, to counteract the nip of September, and her sunglasses rest on top of her head.

Her eyes meet yours, and she smiles at you, and—

"You must be Santana, the coffee-bearing angel!"

You roll your eyes as Kurt takes a coffee from the tray while attempting to give Santana wardrobe advice. "You could totally flaunt a cardigan, maybe something maroon–"

"I'll keep it in mind, RuPaul, but I think I'm good," Santana tells him as she hands out coffees to the rest of the house. They all thank her, and shoot you looks, you think, of approval. After they disperse, you walk up to Santana and take the coffee from her outstretched hand.

"And of course, you get a cinnamon cappuccino," she says to you with a smile. You've noticed, as you've spent more time with her, that she's not full of smiles around other people. The opposite, really. You almost feel…lucky, that you're the only one who gets to receive her dimple smiles, and see her eyes light up. It feels special, like her smile is a secret that she only shares with you.

"You're amazing."

Santana shrugs. "I couldn't let everyone go without coffee, you have pretty important jobs to do."

You can't help but laugh. "I know you just did that to make a good impression." She opens her mouth to respond, but you grab her hands and pull her close to you.

"It was really sweet," you tell her, and her eyes soften. "They would've liked you even if you hadn't bought them coffee, you know."

"Yeah, I know, it's just…" She looks down and runs a hand through her hair. "They're your family, Britt."

"They are. And if they didn't like you, which is pretty impossible, then they'd deal with it." She lets out a breath, and meets your eyes again.

"Thanks, I think I needed that," she confesses, and you give her a quick kiss. You know the rules about PDA in the firehouse, you remember last year, when Schue caught Mike and Tina kissing in the locker room, and he suspended them for three days.

"Come on, I want to show you everything!" You grab her hand and pull her toward the door to the trucks.

You know you're overly excited, but you want her to really know you, and your job is a huge part of your life. You lead Santana over to your engine, which is extra shiny, since you washed it with the boys an hour ago.

"This baby is my prized possession," you tell Santana, who runs her hand along the smooth exterior of the truck. "San, meet Engine Eighteen."

She laughs as she traces the _18_ with her finger. "They're a lot bigger in real life."

You shrug, and point to the slightly smaller truck on the other side of it. "Squad Six over there isn't as big, since it doesn't have an extension ladder like ours."

Santana glances up at the driver's seat of your engine before looking back at you, and her lips curl up into a shy smile. "Can I sit in it?"

You grin, and you reach up to the metal handle and pull the door open. After climbing up, you turn back around and extend your hand to her. She looks at you, ember eyes glowing, and firmly grasps your hand in hers.

You help her climb up to you, where she sits beside you on the seat. You watch her look around, in awe of all of the controls and buttons.

"Can I take a picture of you driving it?" you ask, and she laughs, but puts her hands on either side of the large steering wheel. You snap a few photos of her on your phone, where she smiles and makes silly faces at the camera.

When you're done, you give her a sly grin. "Want to see me in my gear now?"

"Definitely," Santana confirms, as she climbs out of the truck with you in tow. "I bet you're the only one here who can make that look hot."

You wink at her, and you walk over to the wall where the bunker gear hangs. She watches as you slide on the pants, looping the red suspenders over your shoulders. Before you can put on the jacket, she stops you.

"Okay, you definitely need to wear suspenders more often," she says, and pulls you toward her by the straps. "These are sexy as hell."

You blush. You haven't taken it to _that_ level yet, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't think about it a lot.

"I'll keep it in mind," you tell her with a smile, and put on your jacket and helmet. Once you finish securing your helmet, you meet her eyes.

"How do I look?"

She gives you a dimple smile, which you take as a good sign. "You look awesome, Britt. I can't imagine how heavy it is."

"How about you see for yourself?" You take off your helmet, with the dark red _47_ in the center, and hand it to her.

"I'm going to look so bad in this," Santana laughs. Slowly, she brings the helmet up to her head. She puts it on, and you reach up to help her secure it.

You take a step back and look at her, as she wears the helmet you've had since you became a firefighter, and you feel a sudden surge of affection for her. You can't contain the grin that stretches across your cheeks, and you want nothing more than to kiss her with everything you have. But you can't, not here.

"How do you wear this thing every day? I think it weighs more than I do."

You're about to respond when you hear the familiar sound of the alarm. _Engine 18, Ambulance 32, person in distress on 48th._

You groan, because _of course_ you'd get a call while Santana's at the station. Before you can apologize, Santana's putting your helmet on for you, and brushing a few loose strands of your hair back behind your ears.

"Don't worry, Britt, you can show me the rest another time." How she can understand you so perfectly, with no exchange of words, you're not sure. But you couldn't be more grateful, as she pulls you in for a quick kiss before the rest of the house comes out the door.

"See you after my shift?" you ask, and she nods. You haven't felt this reluctant to respond to a call in ages, and you don't want to leave the beautiful brunette in front of you.

"Stay safe," she tells you, with a squeeze of your hand, before your house erupts through the door to put their gear on.

Just as you're climbing into the truck, you turn your head around to find her leaning against the wall, watching you with a smile. You blow her a kiss, which she returns, before the truck door shuts between you.

* * *

The call is at a warehouse under construction. You're surprised, not because it's a construction zone, but because it's an _abandoned_ construction zone. You'd expect workers to be buzzing about, but it's completely empty.

"I feel like we're in a scene from a horror movie," you tell Mike, as the two of you jump out of your truck into the eerie silence.

"Who would even be here? This place looks like it hasn't been touched in months."

You shrug in bewilderment as the rest of the team catches up with you. From what you can see, the warehouse is partially torn down. An entire brick wall sits in a crumbled heap on the ground, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the building. A faded, rusty crane is parked several feet away from the warehouse, and everything is covered in a considerable layer of dust that can be seen under the bright rays of sun.

"Team, listen up! Search the area in pairs. Someone here had to have made that 911 call," Schue yells, and you immediately lock eyes with Mike.

You and Mike sprint, as fast as you can in your bunker gear, towards the collapsed bricks. When you get to the pile of rubble, both of you, somewhat out of breath, pause. You readjust your helmet, which has become askew, before following Mike into the building.

"Fire Department, is anyone here?" you yell, hoping for some sort of response. There's no reply, so you scan your eyes across the room. The only source of light is the sunlight through the empty wall, but it's just enough to let you see into the depths of the building.

"Let's go up to the second floor, no one's down here," Mike suggests, and the two of you run to the narrow staircase on the left wall. You climb up the staircase two stairs at a time, and it takes you up two flights to the top floor.

When you burst through the metal door at the top of the stairs, you notice that the second floor is much darker. You and Mike turn on the flashlights on your helmets, but you can't see too far into the building.

"Fire Department, call out!" Mike yells.

It's faint, and you barely catch it, but a call for help comes from the other side of the building. Simultaneously, you and Mike run as fast as you can across the floor.

You see the giant metal beam before you see the boys. It's as long as your engine, and almost half as wide. The beam is on the ground, and you can see the hole in the ceiling from where it must have fallen.

"You gotta help him, you gotta," a voice pleads, and you look up to find a shaggy-haired boy, about thirteen years old, standing next to the beam. He frantically points down at it, where your eye catches another teenage boy, a little older, who is trapped beneath it.

"Hey little man, I'm Brittany. What's your name?" you ask the shaggy-haired boy. He starts to respond when you hear a gruff voice from beneath the beam.

"Miguel, what the hell? I fuckin' told you not to call them."

The shaggy-haired boy's lip quivers uncontrollably. "I had no choice, Carlos. You're hurt real bad."

You hear Mike radio Schue, asking for more manpower and a stretcher. As gently as you can, you put your hand on Miguel's shoulder.

'What are you two doing here?" you ask, and Miguel tenses up.

"N...Nothing, we weren't doing anything," he defends, and shrugs your hand off his shoulder. But you don't need an answer, when you see the lighter and the brown paper bag haphazardly dropped on the floor a few feet away.

"Is he your brother?" You gesture to the trapped boy, who is gasping in pain under the beam.

Miguel nods, and wrings his hands. 'His name's Carlos."

"We're going to help Carlos, I promise," you tell him, which seems to slightly calm his shaking. You hold Miguel's hand in reassurance as you hear the pounding footsteps of your team approach.

"Let's be careful, he's pretty reluctant," Mike tells Puck and Finn, who stand at each end of the beam, ready to lift it.

" _¡Cabrón!_ Get the fuck away from me!"

Miguel turns rigid as his brother screams, but you soothingly rub your thumb over his hand in attempt to calm him. You hear Blaine count down from three, and slowly, Finn and Puck lift the metal beam, dropping it to the right of Carlos.

Tina and Kurt take over immediately, loading the injured boy onto the stretcher. He seems to have calmed down, but Tina buckles the straps extra tight, preventing Carlos from moving.

As they move towards the exit, you turn back to Miguel. "Is there an adult at home who we can talk to?"

He lets out a shaky breath. " _Mi mamá._ But she thinks we'd been playin' ball, she'll be so mad." At that, you kneel in front of Miguel, and stare into his frightened brown eyes.

"I think, Miguel, that your mom's just going to be relieved that Carlos is okay." He nods, but keeps his gaze focused at the floor.

"C'mon, you can ride along with your brother in the ambulance if you want." You gesture to the door, and together you walk outside to where the ambulance is parked. Tina and Kurt are just about to leave when you get to the ambulance, but Tina smiles at Miguel and opens the back door for him.

" _Gracias_ , Brittany," Miguel says, and he finally shows a hint of a smile. "You're a lot nicer than those cops that are always around."

'We're way cooler, aren't we?" you laugh, but turn serious as you look into his eyes. "Miguel, if you or Carlos are ever in a bad place, the firehouse is always open. No judgement, you can just hang out with us."

Miguel nods, and his eyes light up. "That sounds pretty cool."

You smile and squeeze his shoulder. "Then I guess I'll see you around, little man."

He waves goodbye, and you walk back to your engine. Mike claps you on the shoulder, praising your work. You take a deep breath, feeling much better than when you arrived. Helping kids, it's the best part of your job. The part that, despite the impending danger of every shift, makes it entirely worth it.

* * *

 **Thank you all! If anyone got the reference from one of my favorite movies, then good job :)**

 **~You can find art for this fic on Tumblr! Follow me ( snixxlixx) or use the tag #firefighter!brittana**

 **Leave a review to let me know what you thought, and what you want to see more of!**

 **-Angel**


	4. I Saw Sparks

**Chapter Four: I Saw Sparks**

...

Fridays have never been anything special to you. Unlike most people, the weekend isn't something you generally looked forward to. You actually _prefered_ to be at work, surrounded by your friends. You love being a firefighter, and your weekends usually consisted of binge-watching police dramas and staying on your couch.

But then Santana happened. The beautiful woman you met at a bar, she fell into your life just when you thought that you had everything you needed. A job that you love, a cozy apartment, a few close friends; but you were wrong, _so_ wrong.

Despite the unpredictability of your job, your life had been pretty bland. But Santana, she makes every day a new adventure. She takes you places you've never been, and you know you want to be with her, officially.

You have doubts though, doubts you've never really had before. Doubts about yourself, the constant danger that you face every day, the long hours you work. You've never been so scared in your life, yet you want it more than anything.

It's a Friday, and it's not a Law and Order marathon you're looking forward to tonight. It's the monthly open-mic night at Santana's bar, and she's invited you to watch her perform. She's sung along to the radio with you, but you've never heard her _actually_ sing, and you couldn't be more excited. You figure, since you've shown her your home-away-from-home at the firehouse, she wants to show you hers: the stage.

You know that the stage is truly home to her. Santana had confessed to you one night, during dinner, that she'd been obsessed with performing in musicals back in high school. She told you she'd played Velma in her school's production of _Chicago_ , and you couldn't help but blush at the thought of her dancing seductively in lacy stockings during "All That Jazz". When you asked if she'd ever considered Broadway, Santana had laughed and said that Broadway was for the "Rachel Berry types who've owned the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack since they were three." You're not sure how true that is, but you wouldn't question her.

It's been a quiet day, just a few tripped smoke alarms, and you're anxious for some action to distract you from your waiting. Puck and Mike are losing to you in a game of cutthroat when a call comes in, and you barely hold back a cheer.

 _Engine Eighteen, Squad Six, Ambulance Thirty-Two; fire on Twenty-Four-Hundred Madison._

"Hustle guys, let's move!" Blaine calls as the house empties out to the trucks. You throw on your pants, coat and helmet as quickly as you can, and climb into the shiny red engine with Sam, Blaine, Ryder and Mike at your tail.

...

You can tell which building you're responding to from a block away, because the thick smoke pours out from the windows. Squad 6 arrives from the opposite end of the street at the same time as you, and Kurt and Tina pull up next to them. As fast as you can, you hop off of the truck and attach your oxygen tank to your back. The rest of your crew mirrors you as Schuester approaches from the chief car, jogging towards the trucks and shouting orders.

"Hudson, Lynn, search the first floor. Evans, Pierce, take the second. If the fire gets too strong, you're out of there, all of you."

You don't stick around for any more orders as you and Sam sprint ahead to the old brownstone. Taking a breath, you pause at the door as you fit your breathing mask onto your face.

"You ready, Sammy?"

It's hard to tell with his mask, but Sam seems to smirk at you. "Ready as I'll ever be, Pierce."

You take the lead through the door, and immediately you're enveloped in smoke. Flipping on your headlamp, you beckon Sam to follow you through the door.

"Fire Department, call out!" you hear Finn yell from behind you as he and Ryder enter. Because they have the first floor, like Schue said, you scan the room for signs of a staircase.

"Over here, Pierce!" Sam calls, and you follow the sound of his voice to the right. He comes into sight after a few seconds, and you tail him up the narrow staircase.

"Anyone up here?" you shout, pausing to glance around the room licked in flames.

"H..help o...ver here," a voice coughs, and you and Sam make your way to them through the smoke.

You find the source of the voice quickly, with the violent coughs that sound through the room. It's a middle aged man and a young girl, whom you presume to be his daughter, crouched underneath a table in the center of the room.

"You...you've got to get...her out, she has...asthma," the man begs. The girl, who can't be more than eight, wheezes uncontrollably next to him.

"We'll get her out right now sir, just hang in there," Sam tells him. "Britt, you take her out, I'll be right behind you with him."

You pick up the young girl in your arms, and make your way towards the stairs. You're about five feet away when you hear a loud crash above you, and you instinctively turn away and cover the girl's body with your own.

Turning back around, you notice that a flaming wooden beam has fallen onto the staircase, creating a hot wall of fire between you and the first floor.

Frantically, you look toward the wall facing the street. A single window sits above the counter, and you immediately hold down the button on your radio with your chin.

"Chief, get a ladder up to the far right window, and do it quick!" you say into the radio. You look at Sam, who has the man with him, and he gives you a nod.

"On it Pierce. Get the window open if you can, it'll save time," Schue tells you.

Sam sets the man down, motioning for him to remain where he is, and puts his hands on either side of the window. Releasing a grunt, he pushes up on the glass, and it squeaks as it slowly slides up.

"Get ready, Pierce, the ladder's almost up," Sam tells you, and you fight through the smoke to the window with the little girl in your arms.

"Pierce, hand her to me!" Puck calls from the ladder, and you hold the girl out the window to where Puck is waiting with his arms outstretched. He grabs her bridal style, and you let go only when you're certain that his grip is perfect.

"Get her to the ambo immediately, Puck, she has asthma," you yell to him, and he nods quickly before making his way down the ladder. You back away from the window as Sam helps the man climb out.

"Get out of there, you two, this place is going down any second," Schue yells through the radio, and you quickly climb through the window with Sam behind you. A hot flame shoots up behind Sam, nearly scorching his back as he makes his way out.

"You good, Sam?"

"Fine, Pierce! Let's get outta here," he says, and the two of you begin to climb down the ladder as it rotates away from the building.

When you finally reach the bottom of the ladder, you let out a sigh of relief and remove your mask. You wanted some excitement, but this was intense, even for you. From behind you, Sam claps you on the back.

"Nice work in there, Britt."

You give your half-brother a small smile. "You too, Sammy. I'm glad you didn't get your butt fried off in there."

A loud sound from the brownstone makes you jump, and you look behind you to see the roof collapsing into the building, and flames bursting through the ceiling.

"Another minute in there and it wouldn't just be my butt that would fry off," Sam muses, gazing at the flaming building in front of him.

After lightly squeezing his arm, you take off your helmet and jog over to Kurt and Tina at the ambulance.

"How's she doing?" you ask Tina, while Kurt regulates the girl's breathing.

"She's doing alright," Tina says, glancing at the little girl. "You got her out of there just in time."

You look at the girl, who puffs steadily into a breathing apparatus. She looks up at you, her green eyes wide with shock and adrenaline, and you can't help but smile.

"See you at the station, birefighter," Kurt says, and you chuckle at his nickname for you as you walk back to the truck. You remember that Kurt had initially been hesitant to come out when he first joined Firehouse 47, after having faced some homophobia at his last house. But as soon as he learned that there were two firefighters at 47 who were queer and proud, he befriended you and Blaine immediately.

"Everyone on the trucks, we're heading back!" Schue calls, and you quickly jog back to your engine. After fist-bumping Mike, you settle into your seat on the truck and close your eyes, ready for the day to end so you can see Santana.

…

As you enter _Abrams & Sons Brewery_, your eyes subconsciously glance toward the bar, even though you know Santana's not working. The bartender on duty is Dave Karofsky, a burly guy with a teddy-bear personality who often works shifts with Santana. He grins when he sees you approach, and points you to an open stool on the corner.

"Can I get some Fireball for the firefighter?" Dave jokes as you sit down, and you roll your eyes.

"Funny, Dave, but you know I don't drink whisky," you tell him, and he chuckles. "I'll get my usual."

"Coming right up, Brittany," Dave says, and begins to prepare your passion fruit mojito. "Didn't bring any hot firefighters with you this time? I gave my number to that paramedic the other day, and he hasn't called me yet."

"I don't know, Dave. I'm pretty sure Kurt's got a thing for my Lieutenant, but I'll let him know."

"That's a shame," he says, and slides the mojito onto the counter in front of you. "He was cute."

You laugh before taking a sip. "When does Santana go on?"

Dave glances at his watch. "It's five past eight, she should be going on any minute now."

Before you can respond, the steady beat of the music in the background jars to a stop, and the small stage area lights up. You spin around in your bar stool as Artie Abrams, one of the owner's sons, wheels out from the back.

Artie adjusts his glasses and glances around the bar. "Welcome, everyone, to open-mic night at _Abrams_!" The brewery crowd applauds, and Artie smiles.

"I'm Artie Abrams, the head of finances here, and it is my pleasure to announce the first act. We're going to kick it off with one of our own… let's give a round of applause for the incredibly talented Santana Lopez!"

You feel your breath hitch as Santana, looking impossibly beautiful in her black dress and blue jacket, walks onto the stage. Her confidence, it seems to radiate from her, more than you've ever seen before. Santana makes her way over to the piano in the center of the stage and sits down at the bench, leaning into the microphone in front of her.

"Hey guys," she starts, training her eyes around the room. "I'm glad you all came, there are some really great performances tonight. I hope you all have a good time, and remember to tip your bartender and waitstaff."

A laugh resounds through the room, and Santana takes that moment to find you in the crowd, her eyes glowing under the spotlights as they meet yours. She smiles at you, and holds your gaze as she introduces her song.

"This is a special song to me, and I'm singing it for a special person." She winks at you, and you feel your heart rate increase. "I hope you all enjoy it."

Her fingers situate themselves onto the enameled keys of the piano, and she takes a deep breath before she begins.

You know the song immediately; you've been listening to Coldplay for ages, and it's one of your favorites. You've only ever heard it accompanied by a guitar, never piano, but as Santana plays the intricate opening chords, you already know it's the most beautiful version you've ever heard.

When she begins the first verse, you can't stop the tears that pool in your eyes. Her voice is raspy, and melodic, and perfect, and _her_. She sings the lyrics with elegance and passion, and you know, without a doubt, that this is what she's meant to do.

 _My heart is yours, it's you that I hold onto, that's what I do…_

You're transfixed, on her, on the song, and when her eyes lift up to meet yours, you release a breath you didn't know you were holding.

 _And I saw sparks, yeah I saw sparks, sing it out._

When the song ends, the applause she receives is thundering. You're clapping the loudest, you think, and Santana waves to the audience before exiting to the back room. You're anxious to see her, to congratulate her, to kiss her. You leave a twenty on the counter for Dave, and immediately make your way towards the break room where she had told you to meet her after her performance.

Slowly, you push the door open, and there she is: a little winded, and a lot beautiful.

"Britt…" is all she manages to get out before your lips are on hers, and you kiss her with passion, passion that overwhelms you both.

"You were incredible, San," you breathe out when you break apart.

"I think that was the best I've ever sounded," she confesses, her eyes wide with adrenaline. "It was just something about you being here, watching me, I just…"

You take both of her hands in yours. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

Santana grins at you, squeezing your hands, and exhales. "Britt, I've been thinking…I want to be with you. Officially."

You want to hug her, kiss her, tell her _yes, of course, always_.

But you hesitate.

She sees your pause, and she freezes, dropping your hands. Her eyes dart around, frantically, looking anywhere but you. "I, um, never mind… forget I said anything." She starts to turn around, but you snap out of your shock and grab her hand.

"San, woah, hold up," you tell her, and she turns back around to face you. "I want to be with you too, more than anything." You tuck a fallen strand of her dark hair behind her ear, and her eyes soften. "You're all I can think about all day, and I want something real with you, something permanent."

Her dark eyes search your features quizzingly, as if she's trying to solve a puzzle. "I'm sensing a 'but' in there somewhere."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out your insecurities, but they just seem to spill out of you. "I just… I'm scared. Not of you, _never_ of you, but… what if I didn't come back from work one day, Santana? I face death on a daily basis. What if one of these days I don't make it out of a fire? And I work eleven hours a day, and–"

Santana puts her hand on your cheek, stroking your chin with her thumb, and it stops your rant. "Britt, sit down and talk with me for a second."

She takes your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, and she pulls you over to a couch. She sits, pulling you down next to her, and you take a deep breath.

"Do you know why I like you so much, Brittany?" she asks, and you shake your head. You honestly have _no_ idea why someone as beautiful and passionate as her would want to be with you. "Why?"

"Because you're the most genuinely caring and selfless person I know. You risk your life every day just to help people, Britt. That kind of authentic _good_ is impossibly hard to find in the world."

Santana leans forward, and places a feather-light kiss on your lips. "I don't want to be with you in spite of your job. I want to be with you _because_ of it. And yeah, it's dangerous, it always will be. But it's who you are. And all it means is that you'll have to try extra hard to stay safe, because you'll have someone to come back to."

You have tears in your eyes now, because Santana, she understands you so unbelievably well. "And my job hours?"

"I can trade my shift at the bar for an earlier one, and we'll get more time to spend together at night. I can visit you on your shifts too, you know." She squeezes your hand, woven with hers. "We'll work it out, Britt."

You nod, because you believe her. You trust her completely, and if she says that it'll be ok, you know it will be.

"Okay."

She looks at you carefully. "Okay as in…"

"Okay as in, let's be official. I can't even picture not being with you."

She kisses you then, with more affection than ever before. When she pulls back, her eyes are glowing, igniting, adoring. "So you're my girlfriend?"

"I'm all yours, Santana Lopez."

…

 **Make sure to leave a review to let me know what you thought, and what you'd like to**

 **see in future chapters!**

 **Song used: Sparks by Coldplay**

 **Follow me on tumblr (** snixxlixx **) to see official art for this fic, and some general Brittana appreciation.**


	5. Red Hot

Chapter Five: Red Hot

 **Sorry for the wait! This is an extra long chapter, so hopefully I made up for how long this took.**

 **I have amazing news! I don't know if any of you watch Chicago Fire (if not, and you like this story, I recommend it!) but I had an incredible experience. I met Monica Raymund (aka Gabby Dawson) after one of her theater performances! She's so sweet, and was fantastic in Thaddeus and Slocum. Best night of my life!**

 **Anyway, enough about me. Here's Chapter 5!**

* * *

It's Halloween, and the whole house seems to be in good spirits. It's a slow day at the station, so your company takes the engine out to the St. Michael's Pumpkin Fair in the morning, and you bring back several pumpkins for the annual Firehouse 47 pumpkin carving contest. Sam is the reigning champion, because of his detailed carving of the Engine 18 crest last year, but you're determined to win this time.

"Didn't one of you buy candy?" you ask the guys. You've checked every cabinet, but there's no candy; either it's been eaten, or no one had bought any to begin with.

"That was supposed to be Candidate's job," Puck calls from the couch, and Ryder holds up his hands.

"I bought a bag of Snickers two weeks ago, and _someone_ ate all of them." Ryder throws a pointed glare in the direction of Puck, who finally tears his eyes away from the Giants game long enough to flip Ryder off.

"You left them on the table, and you expected me to not eat them?" Puck scoffs, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. "You've got a hell of a lot to learn, Candidate."

You're about to give Puck a piece of your mind when the door opens, and Tina and Kurt walk in, having returned from a call. Both carry a paper bag in each hand, and you're curious to know what they have.

"No little kids are going hungry at _this_ house," Tina says, and they proceed to empty their bags on the counter. Bag after bag of candy pours out, covering the surface of the counter, and you, Mike, and Ryder all cheer.

"Noah, if you even _think_ about eating this before the trick-or-treaters come, I'll shave off that atrocity on your head while you're sleeping," Kurt warns. Puck's eyes widen, and he nods frantically as he runs a shaky hand through his mohawk.

 _Engine Eighteen, Squad Six, Ambulance Thirty-Two, person in distress on Third Avenue._

"No time to eat it anyway," Puck grumbles, and you all jog out to the garage.

* * *

When the engine pulls up to the scene, you don't immediately see anything wrong. The address is a brick apartment building, five stories tall, and in fairly decent shape. You hop out of the truck behind Mike, and quickly survey the front of the building.

"Chief, where should we start?" Blaine asks, glancing up at the brownstone. "They didn't even give us an apartment number."

Chief Schuester strokes the stubble on his chin, eyes narrowed in thought. "Separate and knock on each door, someone–"

"Help, somebody help me!"

Without hesitation, you all sprint towards the source of the scream. Turning the corner into the alley, you practically skid to a stop once you see him.

It's the condition of his face that first strikes your attention. The deep purple bruises that cover his cheeks and neck are coated in blood, leaving no skin unscathed. A deep open gash runs down in a line, from the corner of his right eye to his bottom lip.

The kid is also three stories up in the air, strapped by a rope to the outer edge of the fire escape.

"I can't get the truck in here, it's way too narrow," Puck says, glancing back at your engine through the alley. Schue gazes up at the hurt teenager, formulating a plan in his head.

"Anderson, Pierce, Chang, take the rope and pulley up to the fire escape. Evans, Puckerman, get ready to belay."

You, Mike and Blaine run back through the alley to the engine, where Mike pulls the rope out from the door of the truck. Blaine leads the way into the building, calling instructions to you and Mike over his shoulder.

"When we get up to the third floor, check the apartments on the left wing… one of them's got to have an entrance to the fire escape."

The three of you jog up the stairs, your boots pounding loudly on the steps as you ascend. When you reach the third floor, slightly out of breath, Blaine heads for the first apartment, instructing you and Mike to take the next two. You approach the door immediately to the right, and knock loudly; the wood is solid under your touch. You inhale slowly; you just want to get to the kid as quickly as possible.

"Fire Department, open up!" you yell, and wait a few moments. When you don't get a response, or hear any movement on the other side of the door, you get ready to force the door open.

"Need any help getting the door open, Pierce?" Mike calls to you, from his spot at the third apartment. You turn around and brace your hands on the trim, and with a grunt, kick backwards against the door. It swings open hard, slamming back against the wall inside the apartment with a loud crash.

"I'm good," you tell Mike, with a cheeky smile and a wink. He chuckles; Mike's been your friend long enough to know that you are _very_ capable of kicking open a door, and that you're proud, proud to be able to keep up with your male colleagues as well as you do.

You turn back to the apartment, and, with a deep breath, make your way inside. You don't see any people, as you jog through the kitchen, and then the living room. When you get to the back room, you freeze; there's an open window, with clear access to the fire escape.

"Guys, I've got access!" you shout, and only a few moments pass before Blaine and Mike jog into the apartment, standing next to you.

"Lead the way, Pierce," Blaine instructs.

Without hesitation, you climb through the window, swinging your legs around to land on the fire escape. The black metal grate echoes as your boots land on it, and you apply pressure with your foot to test the floor's strength. Mike and Blaine follow quickly, joining you on the platform of the fire escape.

"Pierce, get the kid into the harness. Chang, help me get the rope secured to the bars," Blaine calls out, and you don't hesitate to take the climbing harness over to the injured boy.

The kid can't be older than sixteen, you notice, and the gashes on his face are significantly worse up close. To get easier access, you take a few steps down the fire escape, positioning yourself below the boy.

"My name's Brittany, I'm here to help you. What's your name?" you ask him, waiting for some form of consent before you put the harness on him.

The buy groans, shifting within the rope constraints. "Nick."

"Nice to meet you, Nick. I'm going to put this harness on you, Nick, if that's okay with you. We're going to get you down from here."

Nick lets out a grunt in response, which you take as consent. Leaning over the side of the stairs, you pull the harness over his feet, and up his legs until it fits around his torso. Straining slightly upwards, you buckle the straps of the harness until it fits securely around his waist.

After giving the straps a few tugs, to make sure the harness is tight enough, you call up to Blaine.

"Send down the clip, he's all strapped in," you yell, and Blaine hands the end of the rope down to you through the bars. Grasping the carabiner, you pull it up to the boy's harness, securing it through the loop.

"You're doing great, Nick. We've just got to get these ropes off of you, and you'll be down there in a blink," you tell the boy.

Mike throws the other end of the rope down to Puck, who clips the end into his belay harness. Sam stands behind him to anchor, and he gives a thumbs up when they're ready.

"Alright Pierce, Chang and I are undoing the ropes now. Puck will let him down slowly, but make sure he doesn't hit his head." Blaine instructs.

"Copy that," you call up. You wince slightly, at the scream Nick releases as he's being untied. It's hard to imagine the amount of pain the boy is in, and you want nothing more than for him to be safe.

"He's coming down!" Blaine yells, and you see Puck begin to belay down below. Nick slowly lowers, and you put a hand behind his head to protect it from further damage.

It only takes another minute until Nick reaches the ground, and you see Ryder and Finn unclip him and place him on the waiting stretcher.

You let out a sigh of relief, and climb back up the stairs of the fire escape. Mike gives you a grin, which you return with a fist bump, and Blaine claps you on the back.

"You did well, Pierce," Blaine tells you, and you smile.

"So did you, Lieutenant." You give Blaine a squeeze on his shoulder, and lead the way back through the apartment.

When the three of you return outside, you see Tina closing up the ambulance. You're nervous about the boy's condition, but even more so, if he has any family to take care of him.

"Tina!" you call, and she waits as you jog over to her. "How's he doing?"

"He's stable, just pretty banged up." Tina smiles softly, and you feel yourself relax.

"Any family show up?" You're in a rough neighborhood, but you hope he has someone who cares about his wellbeing.

"He said his mom's at work, Kurt's on the phone with her now."

Sighing in relief, you reach up and take your helmet off. A gust of cool wind blows through your hair, and you tuck the helmet under your arm. "Who would do that to a kid?"

"A Halloween prank gone too far, maybe." Tina shakes her head. "It's sickening."

You nod in agreement. You look behind you, at the police interviewing neighbors and bystanders, and hope, for Nick's sake, they find out who did this.

* * *

"I hope you all have incredible carvings, because it's time to choose the winner of the seventy-sixth annual Firehouse Forty-Seven Pumpkin Carving Contest!" Chief Schuester says, addressing the contestants that fill the common room. "The judge of honor, as always, is my lovely wife Emma."

Emma gives a small wave to the room, and you smile; she's always been incredibly sweet to you, and was a source of comfort back before Tina joined the house, when you were the only woman.

Chief Schuester puts his arm around his wife, and clears his throat. "I'd like to thank all of the guests who are joining us today. Know that all of you are always welcome at the house, and that we love having you."

You look over at Santana, who stands next to you with her fingers intertwined with yours. She's working later, because Halloween at _Abrams_ is one of the busiest nights of the year, but you'll visit her after your shift and watch her work. Santana had told you that you didn't have to spend your Halloween watching her work, and you rolled your eyes and kissed her. You don't want to be anywhere else, and she knows it.

Santana notices your gaze, and looks back at you. You smile, because she's just all kinds of perfect, and her eyes light up. Squeezing your hand, she leans in close to your ear.

"Does Finn's even count as a Jack-o-lantern? It looks like someone gave a blindfolded three year-old a knife and said 'Go crazy'," she whispers. You try as hard as you can to give her a stern look, but you can't help but laugh; Finn's face– or what you think is a face – _is_ pretty terrible.

"Be nice," you tell Santana, but you're smiling, and so is she. You look down at your own carving, the silhouette of a firefighter surrounded in flames, and you've got to admit, it's pretty great.

"Yours is easily the best one, Britt," Santana says, and your gaze drifts to Emma, who observes the pumpkins as she makes her way around the room.

Shrugging, you turn back to Santana. "I don't know, some of these are really good."

"Oh please, you've got it in the bag. We already agreed that Finn's looks like roadkill, and it's obvious Puck's 'rocket ship' is a dick."

You roll your eyes, laughing when you see Puck attempting to justify his carving to Chief Schue, and you smile when Emma approaches you.

"Brittany, it's so good to see you!" Emma exclaims, and you embrace her for a quick hug. In a weird way, Emma's been like a mother to you since you joined 47; even though she's only ten years older than you, she's been able to understand you in ways that Mary Evans can't, despite being your stepmother.

"I don't believe we've met before," Emma says to Santana, and you smile as you grasp her hand again.

"San, this is Emma Schuester. Emma, this is Santana Lopez, my girlfriend." You smile, as _girlfriend_ rolls off your tongue. You're still not used to saying it, probably because you still can't believe this incredible woman is actually yours, and Santana smiles as she shakes Emma's hand.

"It's great to meet you, Mrs. Schuester. Britt's told me a lot about you."

Smiling, Emma looks down at your pumpkin. "Brittany, this is amazing. The detail is very impressive," Emma says, and you grin.

Chief Schuester comes up behind Emma, and puts his hands on her shoulders. "Em, have you chosen a winner?"

"I think I have," Emma says, and leans up to whisper in Chief Schue's ear.

After a moment, Chief Schue looks up, and clears his throat. The chatter in the common room dies down, and Chief glances around the room.

"The results are in, and it's time to announce the winner," Chief Schuester says. Holding your breath, you squeeze Santana's hand, and she squeezes back.

"The winner is… Brittany Pierce!"

"Oh my god," you let out, and Santana throws her arms around you.

"Britt, I'm so proud of you," she mumbles into your hair, and you laugh as she glares around the room at some of the disappointed faces. "That's right, you all should feel bad, my girlfriend just _owned_ all of you."

Chief Schue comes up to you with the prize, a golden Firehouse 47 helmet (really, a gold-painted plastic helmet), and you take it with a smile.

"Congratulations, Pierce. You earned it," Chief Schue tells you. Grinning, you lift the helmet up and place it on Santana's head.

A chorus of "Aww"s sound through the room, and Santana blushes next to you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. When she pulls away you look at her, and she smiles at you, her eyes glowing bright. That, you figure, is the best prize you could get.

* * *

"Are we almost there?" you ask, irritated, as you drum your fingers on the wall of the truck. You'd told Santana you'd be at _Abrams_ by 8:00, but you just _had_ to get a call five minutes before your shift ended, and now it's 9:15 and you're still not there yet.

"Calm your tits, Pierce, we're two blocks away," Puck calls back from the driver's seat.

"It's not like you have a girlfriend who's waiting for you," you mutter, and Puck chuckles.

"Shade from Pierce, never thought I'd see the day."

"Shut it, Puck," Mike says, and turns to you. "Brittany, you know as well as I do that Santana understands our job, and the craziness that comes with it. Sometimes timing is out of our control, and she respects that."

"Yeah, I know." Glancing up through the windshield, you finally see the _Abrams_ sign come into view.

"Thanks, Noah," you say as he pulls the truck to a stop in front of the bar.

"Go get your lady, Pierce. And hey, if you guys are up for a threesome, just–"

You slam the door behind you, rolling your eyes. Puck may be kind of a jerk, but you know he's always got your back.

Wasting no time, you jog as fast as you can in your turnout pants to the door. You'd shed your jacket and helmet on the truck, but you had no time to take off the pants. You might've kept them on even if you _did_ have time, because you know Santana loves them.

You laugh, as you walk through the door. _Abrams_ is full of people, most of whom are dressed in Halloween costumes. Santana had mentioned they would be, but the extent, you hadn't expected. A guy walks by only wearing an American flag Speedo and an Uncle Sam hat, and a girl a few feet from you wears a tiger onesie. When you'd asked Santana if she'd be in a costume, she gave you a wink. That girl, you swear, will be the death of you.

When you get to the bar, you spot Santana immediately. She's serving a customer, and the red horns on her head let you know right away what her costume is.

Her eyes light up when she sees you approach, and she whispers a few words to Dave, presumably telling him she's going on break. You feel a pang of guilt, that she hasn't gone on break yet because she was waiting for you, but it quickly fades as she steps out from behind the bar.

You finally understand why she winked at you, when you asked about her costume. Along with the horns, she wears a red, skin-tight mini dress, with matching shiny high-heeled boots. Your throat goes dry, as she comes up to you, and she gives you a radiant smile.

"Hey, babe," Santana says, and presses a quick kiss to your lips.

"Babe? That's a new one." You haven't really used any kind of pet names before, you never really considered it, but the fluttering you feel in your stomach tells you it's something you could get used to.

Santana blushes. 'Sorry, I don't know. I get a little loopy whenever I see you in these pants." She pulls you in closer by your suspenders, and you can't help but kiss her again.

"No, I like it. A lot," you tell her, smiling, when you pull away. "And on the subject of liking things, I may just want to go to hell now, if this is the devil I get."

Santana laughs, her real, beautiful laugh you can never get enough of. "Well, my middle name is _Diabla_ , so I had to play the part."

"And you know how much I love it when you wear red."

"That too."

You sigh, remembering your guilt for coming late. "I'm sorry I was an hour late, San. We got a call right at the end of the shift, and–"

Santana cuts you off with a slow, sweet kiss, and you feel like you're melting. "Tell me about the call."

You think back, recalling the previous few hours. "There was a car accident, some drunk idiot hit a car with a family going home from a Halloween party. They were all okay, thankfully. This little girl in a princess dress got trapped with an arm injury, but I got her out in time."

Santana wraps you in a hug, holding you tight. You let your head rest on her shoulder, and you breathe her in, letting yourself relax.

"Britt, I wouldn't care if you were _ten_ hours late, because I know you're out there, being a lady knight in shining armor who's rescuing little princesses. Nothing makes me happier, you know, than telling people my girlfriend saves lives every day."

"Thank you," you mumble, hugging her tighter. "For the record, I like to tell my friends that my girlfriend's a sexy she-devil."

Laughing, Santana lightly punches you on the arm. "C'mon, firefighter, let me pour you a drink."

You sit down at a bar stool, as Santana goes back behind the bar to make you a passionfruit mojito. You're watching her, a huge smile on your face, when Dave comes up to you.

"Hey Brittany, I wanted to tell you something," Dave says, propping his hands up on the bar counter.

"Sure, Dave, what's up?" you ask, curious.

"Well, for a while I've been trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. Something that has meaning, you know? So with a lot of consideration, I decided I'm going to join the Fire Academy."

You're shocked. "Dave, that's amazing! You'll make an incredible firefighter."

Dave grins. "Thanks Britt, that means a lot. And I was wondering, maybe, if you could put in a good word for me at 47."

Putting a hand on his shoulder, you smile. "Of course I will. Ryder's probably going to be made into a full-fledged firefighter soon, so we should have a Candidate opening by the time you graduate."

Santana comes up next to Dave, and places your drink on the counter. "Dave, why didn't you tell me? That's awesome news."

"I wanted to run it by Brittany first, make sure it was a good idea."

"It's a great idea, Dave. There's no better satisfaction than saving lives."

Dave smiles. "I can't wait. I've got to get back to work, but I'll see you later, Brittany. Santana, take the rest of the night off, be with your girl."

Santana's eyes widen. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious. Go have fun, you two."

Santana hugs him quickly, and comes back around the side of the bar. "What do you want to do, Britt?"

"Take me to your apartment." You hadn't meant to be so forward, but when Santana's eyes darken, you know you made the right choice.

"As in–"

"Yeah."

She studies you, calculating. "You're sure?"

"Mhmm." You look at her, your eyes probably revealing your desire. "Do you want to?"

"God, yes."

"Then let's go."

* * *

She's kissing you as soon as you close the door of her apartment behind you. You take off her devil horns, throwing them somewhere near the couch, so you can run your fingers through her hair.

"Fuck, Britt," she breathes as you press her against the apartment door. You want to touch her everywhere at once, but your hands settle at her hips. She tugs on your suspenders, pulling you flush against her, as you kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

"B… Bedroom," you moan, as she moves her lips to your neck, kissing your pulse point. Slipping out of your boots, you guide her legs to wrap around your waist, and you pick her up, thankful for your amount of required strength training.

Santana laughs against your skin, when you bump into the doorframe of her bedroom, but she kisses you passionately as you lay her down on the bed.

You don't take your time removing each other's clothes; you slide her boots off her feet, as she unloops your suspenders and takes off your bunker pants.

"Too many clothes," she whines, when she discovers you have leggings on underneath your turnout pants.

You chuckle. "I have to, I can't walk around the firehouse without pants."

"You should," Santana says, as she pulls your leggings off. You quickly pull your shirt over your head, tossing it behind you. She runs her fingers along your abs, and you breathe out a moan. "Maybe you should go without a shirt, too."

You smirk. "Yeah, I bet those firefighters would love a free show like that."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Actually, never mind. I don't want to share you."

"So I shouldn't take up Puck's offer of a threesome?"

"Hell. No."

You laugh and unzip her dress, which she throws on the floor, leaving both of you in just your bras and underwear. You'd normally feel uncomfortable in so little clothing, but with Santana it feels right; you want her to touch you, everywhere, and she brings her hands to the clasp of your bra.

Santana looks at you, before she continues, and you nod, urging her to unclasp it. She wastes no time, flipping you over after she takes off your bra, and attaches her lips to your nipple, rubbing her thumb over the other.

"Santana," you moan, your hips canting up to hers. You're in ecstasy already, and you want, _need_ , more. You run your hands up her back, unclasping her bra, and you fling it away as she switches her mouth to your other nipple, circling it with her tongue.

"San, I need…" You trail off, but she knows. She hooks her thumbs into your panties, pulling them down, and you kick them off your feet.

Santana moves up, for a moment, looking at you. You almost feel self-conscious, but then she leans back down, kissing you deeply.

"You're so beautiful, Britt," she mumbles against your lips. Your heart flutters, because _this girl_ , and you flip her over, pulling her panties off.

"So are you," you say after you kiss her. "The most beautiful girl in the world."

You gasp, as Santana runs two fingers through your wetness, rubbing them back and forth. Circling her nipple around your lips, you slide a finger into her, slowly pushing in and out. Santana throws her head back and lets out a shuddered breath. "Fuck, Britt, keep going."

You grind your hips together, as you both thrust your fingers into each other. Your connection to Santana, it's stronger than it's ever been, as you bring each other to the edge.

"San, I'm close," you moan, and you feel her lips on your neck.

"Me too," she breathes, and you both thrust harder, faster.

You reach your climax, and wave after wave of pleasure rolls over you, as you cry Santana's name. Feeling her clench around your fingers, you slow down, and her body shudders beneath you.

Collapsing in her arms, you pant, absolutely exhausted. Santana takes deep breaths, and curls into you.

"Fuck Britt, I… fuck."

"I know." You turn to her, gazing into her glowing eyes, and kiss her. "You're incredible."

"No, _you're_ incredible," Santana says, after you pull away. "I've never even come close to feeling that good in my whole life."

"Me too." Wrapping your arms around her, you pull her against you, enjoying the feeling of her warm skin pressed against yours. "I hope you like cuddling after sex, because I'm not letting go of you."

Santana laughs, and gives you a dimple smile. "Britt, cuddling with you is my favorite thing in the whole world."

With one last kiss to her lips, you close your eyes, and holding Santana close, you fall into a deep sleep.

* * *

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	6. Extinguished

**Chapter Six: Extinguished**

 **Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, but it's an extra long chapter this time. Enjoy!**

* * *

The first two weeks of November have flown by, and things with Santana have been nothing short of incredible. She's been your girlfriend, officially, for a little over a month, and you've never felt so…complete. Your life was predictable, carrying on from shift to shift with your only real spontaneity being which post-shift bar you choose for a drink with your firehouse friends. But Santana, Santana. She's everything you never knew you wanted. Somehow, she's the perfect combination of comfortable and invigorating, and every minute you spend with her feels better than the last. You love watching her work, having her visit you at the station, exploring the city, cuddling on the couch for a late-night movie, waking up next to her, tangled in white sheets; you're happy, you're so unbelievably happy.

But, as happy as you are, in your little Santana-bubble, you want to be with her _outside_ the bubble too. You want to meet her friends, since she's met yours, and after a considerable amount of convincing, she agrees.

Santana nervously taps her foot next to you, looking over at the door for what must be the eight-hundredth time. You're seated at your usual booth in the back at _Fork in the Rhodes,_ the quaint diner down the street from Santana's apartment, but it's not like your usual brunch dates. This time, you're meeting Santana's friends.

Santana's told you a lot about Quinn and Rachel, and despite some of her biting remarks, you're excited to meet them. The only person in Santana's life you've met is Dave, although you're not sure if he counts more as a friend or a coworker, so you were ecstatic when she asked you to meet them.

You're not nervous, not really, but for some reason, Santana is. Reaching down, you place your hand on her bouncing leg, settling it.

"Everything okay?" you ask, rubbing your thumb in circles on her thigh. Santana sighs, relaxing the slightest bit.

"I'm good, sorry. Just a little stressed."

"About me meeting your friends?"

Santana shrugs. "Not exactly, but–"

The bells on the front door jingle, and you see a small brunette come in, talking loudly with the blonde who saunters in behind her. You recognize them from pictures as Rachel and Quinn, and you smile as they make their way to your booth.

"I see her!" Rachel calls across the room, attempting to run through the diner in her high heels. Several heads from nearby tables turn toward her, and Santana shakes her head next to you.

"Here we go," Santana mutters as she stands up, but you see the small smile that breaks free on her lips.

"Santana, I'm so glad to see you," Rachel says, pulling Santana in for a hug. You stifle a laugh when Santana stiffens, awkwardly patting Rachel on the back. It still amazes you how Santana completely _hates_ being touched by anyone, but with you, she loves cuddling, and holding your hand, and being close to you.

"I saw you in class two days ago, Berry," Santana says, rolling her eyes.

"She can't help being dramatic, it's in her blood," Quinn pipes in, finally cracking a smile. "It's good to see you, Santana."

"You too, Q." Santana smiles. "Guys, this is Brittany. Britt, this is Rachel and Quinn." Before you can respond, Rachel grabs both of your hands.

'Brittany, Santana has told me so much about you! Normally I'm the one who talks too much, but when you come up in conversation, I just can't get her to shut up."

"How about we sit down?" Santana firmly suggests, and you can see the pink tint in her cheeks. Grinning, you squeeze her hand as you slide into the booth, and Rachel and Quinn sit across from you.

"So, are you two…?" You gesture to Rachel and Quinn, before realizing it's probably _not_ the best thing to ask someone when you first meet them, and you feel your face heat up. Rachel laughs, thankfully, but Quinn huffs.

"Why does literally everyone think I'm a lesbian?" Quinn asks, throwing up her hands, and Santana cracks up, bracing her hand on your shoulder.

"Because you totally are, Fabray," Santana says, smirking.

Quinn scowls at Santana. "Just because I'm single doesn't make me gay, you know."

"Well, Brittany, I do have two fathers, but I'm not gay myself," Rachel says, looking back at you. "I'm actually in a committed relationship with Brody, my boyfriend of seven months."

"Tool," Santana coughs, and Rachel gives her a stern look.

"I know you like to make that joke because he's a mechanic, Santana, but Brody doesn't find it very funny."

"Not a joke," Santana mutters, and you make eye contact, giving her your 'Be Nice' look. Her eyes immediately soften, and she squeezes your hand under the table as the owner, April Rhodes, approaches your booth.

"My two favorite customers!" April says when she sees you and Santana. Handing out the menus, she winks. "Well, my favorites who I haven't slept with. And I see you brought guests. More lesbians?"

You and Santana laugh, while Quinn raises an eyebrow. Rachel takes the menu, immediately scanning her eyes over it.

"Do you happen to have any vegan options?" Rachel asks, looking up at April expectantly. Rolling her eyes, April points to the bottom of the menu.

"Down here, if you hate yourself that much. Now, can I start you ladies off with some Mimosas?"

"Yes, please," Quinn grumbles, and Santana and Rachel both nod.

"How about you, hun?" April asks you, and you flash her an apologetic smile.

"No can do, April, I've got a shift in a little while."

"I'll tell you one thing, I've never let work stop _me_ from having some booze. I've gotta be pretty drunk to handle some of the assholes that come in here, you know." You and Santana share a knowing smile as April scribbles on her notepad. "I'll get you some coffee, Brittany."

Once April walks away, Rachel folds her hands on the table and looks at you. "So, Brittany, Santana says you're a firefighter."

You nod. "Yup, I've been one for six years."

"Gosh, it must be thrilling. Brody's been talking about joining the Fire Academy, now that his shop is going under. I, for one, think it's an excellent idea, because it's so much more financially stable than working in an auto shop."

Santana rolls her eyes at the mention of Rachel's boyfriend, and you shrug. "I mean, I guess it pays okay, but most of us do it because we love to save lives."

Smiling, Santana squeezes your hand under the table. Quinn gives you a look you can't really decipher, before she speaks.

"It's dangerous though, right? Running into burning buildings and stuff," Quinn says, and Santana's eyes burn, her gaze piercing into Quinn.

"It absolutely is, no question. But it's part of the job, and it's necessary," you say, unsure of what Quinn's getting at.

"I just… I don't know, Santana, maybe this is out of line, but getting in too deep, when there's a high chance of Brittany getting hurt, or worse, are you sure that's something you're ready for?"

Santana stands up suddenly, startling you, and you look at her, wide-eyed. She's angry–livid, really–and she glares at Quinn with a hot fury you've never seen from her.

"Do you think I haven't considered that, Quinn? Do you think I don't worry every single time she leaves for a shift?" Santana asks, her voice raised and shaky, and you're frozen. Your limbs, your mouth, nothing works, and you watch Santana become more and more heated.

"Well, I do. I'm _always_ worried for Britt's safety when she's on a shift, but I _trust_ her. I can handle being worried, because I know she's out there saving lives, and trying her damn hardest to be safe. So yes, this _is_ 'something I'm ready for', because I care about Britt a hell of a lot, and her job is a part of who she is."

Santana rifles through her wallet, pulls out a twenty, and throws it on the table. "We'll come back another time when you can get your head out of your ass and be happy for me, Quinn."

Santana storms out of _Fork in the Rhodes_ , leaving Quinn and Rachel at the table with dropped jaws. You watch Santana all the way to the door, and turn to Quinn when the door shuts behind her.

"I care about Santana a lot too, and I promise I'll try as hard as I can to be safe for her," you say to Quinn, and you leave the booth, walking to the door.

When you step outside, the bells jingling above your head, you see Santana leaning against the wall of the diner with her arms crossed, and her eyes squeezed shut. She breathes heavily, trying to calm herself down, you think.

"Santana," you say softly, and you know she probably hears the worry in your voice. You keep your distance, you don't want her to blow up at you, but you're there, you're there. "What happened in there? Why'd you blow up at Quinn?"

"Because she was being selfish, and fucking inconsiderate," Santana says, opening her eyes, but stares out at the street.

"I think she was just trying to look out for you," you say, and Santana's gaze snaps to you, her eyes burning.

"No, she's _not_ looking out for me! She was skeptical and judgy from the first time I mentioned you, and she'd only met you for like, two seconds before she went off about your job. She didn't even take the time to get to _know_ you, and how fucking amazing you are!" Santana's yelling now; you've never heard her yell, _especially_ not at you.

"Santana, you need to cool down. Go take a walk or something, I'm going to my shift. Tonight, you're going to talk to me about what the hell's going on, because this isn't you," you say firmly. You're not mad, but worried. This fury, you've never seen it from her, and it scares you.

Santana looks at you for a moment, her burning eyes wide and uncontrolled, before casting her gaze down to the ground.

"Okay," Santana says, her voice small, and your heart, it shatters a little, because you care about her so much that it hurts you to see her so wrecked. You look at her for another second, before turning away to walk to your car.

* * *

"Geez, Pierce, what crawled up your ass this morning?"

You brush past Puck, and walk into the kitchen to get coffee. You know if you respond, you'll probably say something you'll regret, so you pour yourself a cup and wave him off. You can feel Tina and Mike's eyes on you from the table, but you ignore them, sitting down at the far end of the table, and you scroll through the news headlines on your phone. You can't help it, you shut down when you're angry, you always have. You don't like confrontation–you hate it, really–and you know that talking when you're mad usually ends up in an argument.

 _Engine Eighteen, Squad Six, Ambulance Thirty-two, child in distress on Twenty-Seventh._

You're relieved (or, as relieved as you can be with a kid in danger), to have something to get your mind off of Santana, at least for the time being. You put on your gear quickly, and you're the first in the truck, Mike hopping in a full ten seconds after you.

"Whatever it is, we're here for you, Britt," Mike says, squeezing your shoulder as the truck drives off. You nod, giving him a grateful smile, because you still don't trust your words.

When you arrive at the scene, you see a woman standing in the middle of the road, waving her arms frantically. As soon as Puck stops the truck, you and your company jump out and jog up to the woman.

"What's wrong, ma'am?" Blaine asks, and you see Chief Schuester jog up to you from his car. The woman chokes out a sob, looking at Blaine with tears running down her cheeks.

"My daughter, she… she's in the play structure, in the backyard, and… the telephone pole came down…"

"What's her name?" Blaine asks the woman, who finally catches her breath.

"Natalie, her name's Natalie. Please, get her out of there," the woman pleads.

"Eighteen, go to the backyard, but do _not_ approach the structure until I give further orders. There could be a live wire. Sam, Puck, go to the garage and try to find a wooden ladder. We can't use the metal ones with active wires," Chief Schue says, and Blaine nods, leading your company to the backyard.

When you turn the corner into the backyard, you can't help but gasp. The roof of the wooden play structure is caved in from the telephone pole, and sparks spurt out from multiple loose wires.

"Chief, this is bad. We need to get her out of there immediately," Blaine yells, and Chief Schue nods.

"Go tell the girl not to move, and find a route in," Chief orders.

You all run to the structure, but keep your distance from the wires. Through a hole in the side of the wall, you see the head of a little brunette.

"Natalie? We're the firefighters, can you hear us?" Blaine calls up.

"Yes," a shaky voice calls out.

"Are you hurt at all?"

After a beat of silence, the girl speaks. "I...I don't think I am." You lock eyes with Blaine, and put your finger up, taking a step closer.

"Natalie, my name's Brittany," you say. "You're being so brave, but I need you to do me a really big favor, and sit as still as you can. Do you think you can do that?"

There's a pause, and then you hear Natalie's small voice. "I think so."

"You're doing great, Natalie. We'll come up and get you as soon as we can," you say, and turn to look at Blaine.

"I'll get her, I'm small enough to fit through the hole," you say. Blaine looks at Chief Schue, who nods quickly.

"Be fast, Pierce. Scope out the wires before you go in, don't even get close to them."

You nod, and Sam and Puck appear, each holding one end of a ten-foot wooden ladder.

"Set it up at the hole, Pierce is going in," Blaine tells Puck and Sam, and grabs the baseboard from Tina and Kurt. "Alright, Pierce, go on up. When you're ready, we'll send up the baseboard."

"Will do," you say, and brace your hands on the sides of the wooden ladder. You take a deep breath before climbing up, careful not to put too much pressure on the wooden rungs. When you get to the structure, you see Natalie sitting in the corner, eyes wide, the top of the telephone pole barely two feet from her.

"Hey, Natalie. You're doing such a good job," you say as you climb through the hole into the unstable structure. You see a wire hanging off to the right of the pole, and a spark spits out, making Natalie yelp.

"It's okay, just focus on me," you tell her, and you squeeze her hand with your own. "I'm going to get you out of here." Natalie gives you a tiny nod, her dark brown eyes wide with fear.

"Alright, send up the baseboard," you call down, and a moment later the plastic yellow board slides up the ladder, the tip protruding into the hole for you to grab.

"Okay, Natalie, I'm going to lie you down on this board, and you'll be down in no time," you tell her, pulling the baseboard into the structure. Setting the board down flat, you scoot yourself forward on your knees until you're right in front of Natalie.

"I'm going to pick you up now, oka–"

You're cut off by a loud creak, and the floor begins to cave in as the telephone pole shifts down, splitting the wood in the floor with a splintering crack. Natalie screams, and you throw yourself over her as a few small beams of wood from the ceiling fall on top of you.

"It's okay, I've got you," you pant, but you see the loose wire from before, now swinging violently in front of you as sparks shoot out of the tip.

"Pierce, report," Chief's voice shouts through your radio. Fumbling to get your hand up from your position on top of Natalie, you hold down the button with shaky fingers.

"We're okay, but a little stuck now," you say.

"Can you still get her down on the baseboard?"

"Negative, Chief. The wire's swinging right in front of the board and the hole, we can't go back that way."

You look around frantically, trying to find another way out, and then you see it: a small gap between the telephone pole and the wall, at the back corner of the structure.

"Chief, I need the ladder repositioned to the back, next to where the pole came through. I can carry her out, if I squeeze."

"Copy that, Pierce. Move quickly," Chief Schue says.

Removing yourself from Natalie, you kneel on one knee. Natalie looks up at you, her eyes wild and scared, but you grab her hand.

"Natalie, I need you to wrap your arms around my neck and hold on, okay? I'm going to bring you out."

"Okay," Natalie whispers, and sits up, wrapping her small arms around the back of your neck. Wrapping one arm around her waist, you slowly stand up on wobbly knees. You have to hurry, you know the floor is still unstable, you can hear the telephone pole creaking.

Making your way to the back of the structure, you walk as lightly as you can, determined not to put too much pressure on the cracking floor. When you reach the gap, you peer down, and see the wooden ladder leaning up against the side of the structure.

"Alright, Natalie, hold on tight," you tell her, and, turning around, you brace your free hand on the side of the telephone pole. Slowly, so slowly, you place your foot down on the first rung of the ladder, and you see Sam and Puck at the bottom, securing the base. As you go to put your other foot down, the pole shifts, creaking loudly, and the movement wobbles the top of the ladder. Natalie sobs into your jacket, and you clench your teeth, gripping your free hand on the ledge of the structure as you place your left foot on the second rung down.

You get down the rest of the ladder quickly, hardly noticing the flashes of light as you climb down, and when you lay Natalie down on the waiting stretcher, you let out a sigh of relief.

"Britt, that was a close one," Sam says, patting you on the shoulder, and you give him a small smile. Before you can respond, something flings itself around you, and you stumble back a step.

"Th...Thank you for saving my daughter," Natalie's mom cries out, and you squeeze her back, before pulling away.

"It was no problem, I'm glad she's okay," you say, and turn to Natalie, who looks up at you with her big, brown eyes.

"Thank you," Natalie says, finally smiling, and you can't fight off your grin.

"You were really brave up there, Natalie," you say, and you squeeze her hand before walking back to the truck with your house.

* * *

You can't help but smile when you get home and see Santana's car parked in your driveway. You gave each other keys a few weeks ago, and when you come home from work after a long day, and she's there, it's one of those little things that makes you giddy and feel all warm inside. It feels really… domestic, you guess, but you love it.

But, you still have to talk about this morning. You're worried, but you feel much better now. And when you walk into your apartment, and see Santana making dinner, clad in one of your FDNY t-shirts and a pair of your sweatpants (rolled up three times, which you think is the cutest thing ever), you think she must feel better too.

"Britt," Santana says with a smile, when she sees you walk in. She wipes her hands on a towel and walks over to you, catching you by surprise when she pulls you into a tight hug. You stand there for a moment, wrapped up in each other (which, you think, you both really need right now), before you pull your head back from her shoulder and kiss her forehead.

"Hey."

"It's all over the news, Britt, you saving that little girl from the play structure. You were incredible," Santana says, and your eyes widen.

"It is?"

Santana laughs. "Yeah, the headlines are calling you the 'Playground Protector.'"

You shrug, casting your eyes down. "Hardly. We both almost got electrocuted _and_ crushed."

"But you didn't," Santana says, tilting your chin back up with her finger. "From the interview I saw, the girl and her crazy-ass mom are really grateful."

You laugh, giving Santana a quick peck on her lips, and she smiles at you. "C'mon, I made spaghetti."

"San, you didn't have to make dinner," you say, as she brings two plates to the table. Santana sets the plates down, and sits in her seat across from you, before shrugging.

"I wanted to," she says playfully, shooting you a wink, but suddenly drops her gaze. "And, I also wanted to apologize. This morning, me yelling at Quinn, and at you, that was completely uncalled for. I guess, I was on edge all morning, and she just made me snap."

"You were anxious from the moment I told you I wanted to meet them," you say, twirling the strands of spaghetti around your fork. "It's like, you had this idea in your head that it was going to go badly before it even happened."

Santana bites her lip and looks down at her plate with her forehead creased, which you've learned is her 'thinking-of-the-right-words-to-say' face. A silent moment passes before she looks back up at you, her eyes dark and contemplative.

"You know, in my whole life, you're the first person I've ever asked out."

You drop your fork onto your plate with a _clang_ , because you're honestly shocked. Santana's charming and flirty, and usually radiates confidence. "No way."

"Way," Santana says with a small smile. "It's always been the other way around. I let _so_ many potential first dates slip away because I didn't have the courage to ask them out, and then I never saw them again."

"Well, I can't really complain about that. If one of them had said yes, I might not have been able to snatch you up for myself."

Santana laughs, and laces the fingers of her right hand with your left on the table. "I have no idea how I did it, honestly. I just started talking, and before my mind could catch up and go into panic mode, I'd asked you out."

"And I'm so glad you did," you say, bringing your joined hands to your lips and softly kissing the back of her palm. "So what is it that kept making you hold back?"

Santana sighs. "I have this… thing, I guess, with rejection."

"It kinda seems like more than just a 'thing'."

"Yeah." Santana nods, and shifts her eyes to the side. "So, you know I grew up in Louisiana, obviously. I haven't really told you much else, because it kind of sucks to talk about."

"Take your time," you tell her, squeezing her hand.

"Okay," she breathes, closing her eyes for a moment before looking at you. "My family was really conservative. Most of the community was, so it wasn't abnormal. My parents were the types who would, like, go to their super offensive Church every Sunday, and send hate mail to abortion clinics. So, naturally, they were really homophobic, and I knew it."

"God, Santana," you say, appalled that she had to be surrounded by so much hate. "How'd you live like that?"

"I liked them well enough, when I was able to ignore all of it. When I realized I liked girls, I knew I had no intention of coming out."

"So, what happened?"

Santana picks at her cuticle. "There was this attractive girl at my school, with these super accepting parents, and she was an out and proud lesbian. I was… fascinated, I guess, that she was so comfortable with herself, and pretty soon she and I started hooking up. We _never_ went to my house, but my parents were out of town one weekend, so I thought it would be okay."

Santana's eyes begin to tear up, and you rub circles on her palm with your thumb. "They came home early, and caught us making out on the living room couch. I… I had never seen them so angry before. They practically threw the girl out the front door, and my dad was so livid, I thought he was going to hit me, or something."

A tear runs down her cheek, and you feel yourself tearing up as well. "San," you whisper, and you tug on her hand, urging her to come closer to you. Getting up from her chair, Santana comes over to you, and you pull her into your lap. She wraps her arms around your neck and tucks her head into your chest, releasing shaky, wracking sobs that scare you. You've never seen Santana cry, not like this, and you're not sure what you're supposed to do.

Threading the fingers of one hand through her hair, you pull her close, rubbing soothing circles into her back while you press kisses on the top of her head. After a few minutes, she calms down, and takes a few shaky breaths.

"They didn't talk to me for my entire senior year of high school. It was like, the silent treatment, but for a whole year. I basically spent all of my time at Quinn's house, and after high school, we took off for New York together. I haven't seen or spoken to my parents since the day I graduated. I don't think about it much anymore, but that blatant rejection will always sting."

"You deserve so much better than that," you say, not sure if it's the right thing to say. You're not sure if _anything_ you say is the right thing, but Santana leans into you, pressing her lips to your collarbone.

"I know, which is why I'm so glad I have you."

"I'm glad I have you, too."

Santana sits up a little, looking into your eyes. "So, I don't take rejection well. And now that I'm with you, I guess I had this weird anxiety about my friends rejecting you, even though there was no way in hell that they would, because you're perfect."

You can't help but smile a little–because if anyone's perfect, it's Santana–and you press your lips to hers, drawing her in and kissing her with all the emotion you're feeling.

"I want you to come home with me for Thanksgiving."

Unsurprisingly, her eyes widen in shock. "Actually? After all that, you _want_ me to meet your dad?"

You rub the creases out of her forehead and quickly kiss her nose. "Yeah, I do. I've wanted you to meet him since, like, the day I met you, and he's wanted to meet _you_ for about as long. And I want to bring you even _more_ now, because I want to show you that not everyone is going to be as awful to you as your parents, and that you have a family now who cares about you."

"Britt." Santana gives you _that look_ : the "I seriously adore you, how are you even real?" look. You know it, because you give _her_ that look, like, eighty times a day.

"Is that a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes, silly. I'd love to come home with you for Thanksgiving."

* * *

 **Leave a review to tell me what you thought!**

 **As always, the OFFICIAL art for this fic is on my Tumblr (snixxlixx) under the tab "fic art".**

 **Until next time,**

 **Dawson**


	7. Hearth

**Chapter Seven: Hearth**

 **Hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

It's the worst fire you've seen in months.

By the time you arrive, sirens wailing, the seven-story apartment building is entirely engulfed in flames, and the smoke is a dangerously dark shade of gray. The harsh wind stings your eyes as you jump out of the truck, Mike and Sam at your tail.

"Chief, we've got to move, this place is coming down any minute!" Blaine yells to Chief Schuester, whose forehead creases in worry as he looks up at the foreboding building.

"Anderson, Pierce, Evans, you've got two minutes," Chief calls, his voice strained, and the three of you sprint full force toward the front door. A chubby middle-aged man runs toward you, meeting you halfway up the walkway.

"I'm the landlord," he wheezes, eyes wild with fear. "There's one family unaccounted for on the second floor, apartment 2D."

"Get the other residents and get away from the building," Blaine instructs, and the man nods frantically, jogging across the street to the large group of traumatized families.

When you, Blaine and Sam reach the front door, all three of you pause, ripping off your helmets to put on your breathing apparati. You put it on quickly, the motion so familiar to you, and put your helmet back on when your mask is secure.

"Let's move," Blaine's muffled voice calls out. "We need to find the staircase, everyone be on the lookout for 2D." You and Sam nod, and the three of you run into the building.

You know from the second you enter that you don't have much time. The smoke is thick and dark, and the flames lick the walls, surrounding you. You focus your vision, scanning your eyes across the burning front desk, a group of overturned chairs, a staircase…

"Found the staircase," you call, motioning for Blaine and Sam to follow you. You crouch, moving as fast and as low as possible toward the stairs. Running up the stairs, you put as little pressure as you can on the splintering steps, hearing Blaine and Sam at your tail.

"One minute, I repeat, one more minute and you're out," Chief Schuester's voice crackles through your radio, just as you reach the second floor.

You, Sam and Blaine split up, and you move down a flaming hallway, searching for apartment 2D through the thick smoke.

"Fire Department, call out!" you yell, feeling frantic as you pass apartment after apartment, with no sign of 2D. Hearing a crack above you, you jump back, narrowly avoiding a burning chunk of ceiling when it crashes to the ground in front of you.

"Brittany!" you hear from behind you, and you feel two sturdy gloved hands pull you to your feet. Spinning around, you see Sam in front of you, and Blaine appears next to him.

"The walls are burning too much, we can't see the apartment numbers," Sam says, but before you can respond, you hear Chief Schue's voice through both of your radios.

"That's it, get out now!" Chief calls, and you feel your heart sink. A family is still in here, stuck in their burning apartment, and you feel anxious, and entirely helpless.

You're about to protest, or scream, or _something_ , when you hear a loud crash behind you, and see a flaming beam smash into the floor, followed by crumbling bricks.

"Come on!" Blaine calls, and you and Sam run after him, back toward the staircase. Your head is spinning, your mind is racing, but you follow them back, moving as quickly as you can in your crouched position.

You're turning the corner, no more than ten feet from the staircase, when you _swear_ you see it, even through the smoke and movement.

On the wall next to a shut, flaming door, you catch a glimpse of a plaque, and though it's mostly charred, you know from the wrench in your gut that it says _2D_.

* * *

You hate the feeling in the house after you lose someone.

The common room is normally lively, with some football game playing on the TV, and the guys stealing snacks from third watch's stash. Being the day before Thanksgiving, the kitchen would normally be full, everyone preparing for the firehouse's Thanksgiving Eve lunch.

Today isn't normal, though. A few people are scattered in the common room, mostly keeping to themselves, and the kitchen so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You're on your cot, trying to read, but mostly just sulking, when Tina walks in.

"Hey, Britt," she says, coming over and sitting on the end of your bed.

Closing your book, you try to manage a smile. "Hi, Tina."

"How are you doing?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Trying to stop feeling so guilty, I guess."

Tina gives you a small, strained smile; not patronizing, but empathetic. You know she understands better than anyone the guilt of human loss, you know all the times she's been in charge of someone's life, in the back of the ambulance, only to helplessly watch them slip away.

"Kurt and I were just at Bellevue. Apparently they were dead before we even arrived at the scene, Brittany. There's nothing you could've done."

You close your eyes, releasing a breath. It still hurts, it hurts a _lot_ , but the information releases some of the feeling of guilt.

"Thanks," you say, your voice still a little shaky, but you manage to flash Tina a small smile. "It's just even worse, with Thanksgiving tomorrow, and everything."

"Yeah, I know," Tina says, and squeezes your knee. "Chief called a house meeting, he told me to come get you."

Nodding, you place your book on the side table, and walk with Tina down the hallway to the meeting room. When you walk in, you and Tina take seats on either side of Mike, who sits in the third row. The room is mostly silent, just a few hushed whispers, and when everyone comes in, Chief Schuester walks up to the front.

"Today was a rough day," Chief says, glancing at the sullen faces around the room. "The worst feeling we can have as first responders is helplessness. It's our _job_ to help, and when we can't do that, it's hard to recover from."

"No shit," Puck mutters from the back, and Chief Schue sighs, running a hand through his curly hair.

"The point is, we're family. I consider you all family, and I know you see each other as family too," Chief says, and you nod, seeing the others around you nodding as well. "Family means a lot of things, but most of all, it means leaning on each other when times are hard. The only way we can get through this is by helping each other."

You truly smile, for the first time since the call, because you know Chief is right. You glance to your left and lock eyes with Sam, who gives you a goofy grin and nudges your shoulder.

"Since it's the day before Thanksgiving, we're going to have our Thanksgiving lunch today, because I think we all need it more than ever," Chief Schue says.

"But Chief, no one made anything. The turkey's still sitting raw in the fridge," Ryder says.

With a smile, Chief leans on the table. "I know, so I gave Emma a call, and she may have bought a few things over." A few whoops and claps sound through the room, and you feel lighter than you have all day.

"Anything else, Chief?" Blaine asks.

"Actually, yeah," Chief says, frowning a little. "I hate to bring the mood down even more, but I want to talk about Christmas. As you all know, Emma and I are going away from Christmas Eve to just before New Years, so I had to find a chief to fill in for that week."

"I swear, if he says a name that begins with S and rhymes with blue, I'm going to throw up," Kurt groans, and you nod in agreement.

"I'm sorry, guys. Deputy Chief Sylvester's going to fill in that week, but you can bet I didn't have a say in it. She even _volunteered_. That being said, I expect you all to treat her with respect."

There are more than a few grumbles as you all file out of the meeting room, but when you turn the corner into the common room, you feel yourself gasp, and hear several others gasp as well. The long dining table is filled with dozens of plates and bowls of food, and each place is set beautifully, not a fork out of place.

"Emma, did you do all this?" you ask, and she gives you a warm smile.

"Oh no, definitely not. My sister owns a catering company, so she and I brought it all over from her store. I just made it presentable," Emma says with a blush.

"Well, it looks absolutely incredible!" Kurt gushes, and everyone sits down, thanking Emma numerous times for the food.

When you sit down between Mike and Sam, you look around the table at your house, everyone cheering each other up, and you smile, eternally thankful for your firehouse family.

* * *

Thankfully, the rest of your shift is uneventful after lunch, because as much as you love your house, you need the comfort of Santana, and of your father, who you, Santana and Sam are driving to Boston tonight to see.

When you get home, you take a long, hot shower to try to wash away the ache in your chest, and put on comfortable leggings and a sweatshirt for the car ride (Santana's sweatshirt, which you have no intention of returning) while you wait for Santana to come. When you hear the key in the door, you smile, like you always do, and grab your overnight bag from the hall.

"Hey, you," Santana says as she shuts the door behind her. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she's wearing one of _your_ sweatshirts.

You both start laughing when you realize you're wearing each other's sweatshirts, and Santana smiles at you before pulling you into a slow, sweet kiss.

"Ready to go?" she mumbles into your lips, and you give her a quick peck before pulling away.

"Yeah. Do, um, do you think you could drive for now?"

Santana looks at you, her eyes soft and warm. "Of course I'll drive, Britt. Are you okay?"

"Not really, it was a pretty awful day. I'm still a little spooked."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'll tell you about it tonight, I just…" You don't think you can talk about it without breaking down, with the burnt _2D_ plaque still flashing through your head.

Santana, who understands you so perfectly, takes your hand and presses a feather-light kiss between your knuckles. "Okay. Come on, let's go grab Sam."

Santana takes your keys, and you walk down to your car, throwing your bags in the trunk before sliding into the passenger's seat as Santana sits next to you behind the wheel.

You pick up Sam at his apartment (not without a "Get in, Trouty" from Santana, of course), and begin the four-hour drive to Boston. Santana drives for the first two hours, and you hold her hand over the center console, alternating between looking out the window and watching her drive. You always think Santana looks beautiful, but there's something especially radiant about her when she drives, scrunching her forehead in concentration every time she changes lanes, and softly singing along with the radio.

Sam takes over driving for the last half of the trip, and you and Santana cuddle in the backseat, you resting your head on her shoulder, and her arm wrapped comfortably around your waist. At some point you fall asleep–you learned to be able to fall asleep anywhere, and quickly, back when you were on 24 hour shifts–and you wake up to Santana running her fingers through your hair.

"Hey," you whisper, when you're fully awake, and you press a kiss to Santana's cheek.

"Hi, sleepyhead." Santana laughs, but you can tell it's strained. "Sam said we're five minutes away."

"You sound nervous."

"A little," Santana admits, leaning her head on top of yours. "I _am_ really excited, trust me, but this is your family… your _dad_."

"My dad's even more excited to meet you _._ I'll bet you a brownie sundae that he'll end up liking you more than he likes _me._ "

Santana laughs, throwing her head back. "A brownie sundae, huh?"

You smile, wrapping your arm around her waist. "I don't mess around with desserts, San. This is a serious wager."

Santana shakes her head and smiles, her full dimple smile that you love so much, and you know you've succeeded in settling her nerves for the time being.

"Here we are," Sam says, and you feel him pull the car into the driveway. Turning to look out the window, you can't help but smile, seeing the cozy house in Brookline you spent eight years of your life in.

When Sam turns the engine off, you walk around to the trunk. You grab Santana's bag, shooting her a wink, and she laughs and rolls her eyes when you make Sam take _your_ bag.

"Dad, Mary, we're here!" you call, when you unlock the door and walk inside. Santana holds your hand tightly, and you squeeze it, rubbing your thumb over her knuckle in reassurance.

"B!" you hear, and you smile when you see your dad emerge from around the corner.

"Hey, Dad," you say, and release Santana's hand to give him a hug. It's been a while since you've seen him, you don't get a lot of vacation time, and you've missed him.

"It's good to see you, B," he says when he pulls away, before turning to Santana with a big smile. "You must be the Santana that Britt can't shut up about."

"It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Pierce. I can't thank you enough for letting me come stay, I really appreciate it," Santana says, reaching out to shake his outstretched hand.

"You've got yourself a sweetheart here, B," your dad says, and you grin, lacing your fingers with Santana's again, because you really do, and couldn't be happier. "You can come anytime, Santana, anyone who makes my B smile like _that_ is always welcome here."

Santana smiles, and you laugh, pecking her on the cheek. You know that she knows she has nothing to worry about, you can feel her nerves settling.

"Hey, Pierce!" Sam says, coming in with your bags.

"Sammy, how's it going, bud?" Your dad claps him on the back, and Sam grins.

"Tough day today, but I'm alright. Where's mom?"

"She's in the living room, come say hello," your dad says, leading the way down the hallway. When you walk into the living room, Mary beams at you, and stands up from the couch.

"Britt, you didn't mention how gorgeous your girlfriend is," Mary gushes, rushing forward and wrapping Santana in a hug. "It's great to meet you, Santana."

"Mary, I've sent, like, a thousand pictures of us."

"Well, the pictures don't do her justice, honey."

Santana blushes, and you see her trying to fight off a smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Evans, it's great to meet you too."

After Mary hugs you, she runs off to find Sam. Glancing over at Santana, you smile when you see her staring wide-eyed at your dad's piano.

She walks over to it, and runs her palm over the smooth, black surface. "It's a baby grand, Britt," she says, in awe, as if she's looking at a diamond. "It's beautiful."

"It is, isn't it?" a voice says from behind you, and you turn around to find your dad smiling at Santana. "I wish it got used more, no one ever plays it now. Mary used to play, but she can't anymore with her arthritis."

"You should play, San," you tell her, and she looks at you, and then at your dad.

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely, B tells me you're quite the virtuoso," your dad says, giving Santana a nod. Santana smiles at the compliment, and after you give her a reassuring smile, she sits down at the bench.

You're captivated every time she sings and plays, and this time is no exception. Her fingers dance across the pearly white keys as she sings Adele's _Turning Tables_ , and when she plays the last note, your whole family applauds, making Santana duck her head and grin.

"I just have a keyboard at my apartment, so I love playing real pianos like this," Santana says.

"We'd love to hear you play more while you're here," your dad tells her, and Santana agrees that she will.

"San, you're amazing, you sounded so beautiful," you tell her, though you never feel like you have the right words to express how perfect she is. You know she understands, though, with her dimple smile and the kiss she gives you.

"Ready to go up to bed?" you ask Santana, and she nods. You love your family, but it's late, and with the events of the morning are catching up to you, you just really need Santana.

Tangling your fingers with Santana's, you walk down the hallway toward the staircase. She pauses for a moment in the hall, and you see her grin at a mounted photograph of twelve year-old you, your foot on top of Sam's back as he lays face-down in the dirt of your backyard, with your fist raised triumphantly in the air.

"There are plenty more of those upstairs," you laugh, pulling Santana along as you walk up the stairs. "My room hasn't changed since I was eighteen, so the dial's stuck on 2006."

"Should I keep my eye out for _Backstreet Boys_ posters?" she teases.

"Excuse me, I was an _NSYNC_ girl all the way."

Santana laughs as the two of you enter your childhood room, when she sees that you have two _NSYNC_ posters on your wall, as well as ones for Britney Spears and Avril Lavigne. Flopping down on your bed, you watch Santana as she looks around your room.

"Approve of my high school pop icons?" you ask, winking as she lies down next to you.

"Totally, I should sing 'I Want You Back' at the next open mic night, and maybe wear one of those metallic leather jackets," Santana says, and you laugh, playfully swatting at her shoulder.

"You're such a goof," you tell her, and roll onto your side, taking her bottom lip between yours and kissing her sweetly.

When you get back up, you wash up quickly, and Santana does the same, sensing how eager you are to get in bed. It's not that you want to have sex (though you don't think you could, with your parents and Sam right downstairs), you just want to tell Santana about what happened, and have her cuddle with you, because after terrible days at work, nothing comforts you more than being in her arms.

After you both climb in bed, you reach over to your bedside table and turn off the lamp, letting the comfortable darkness surround you as you pull up the quilt and tuck your head above Santana's chest. For a minute you lay in silence, feeling her heartbeat under your cheek and listening to her soft, soothing breaths.

"We lost a whole family today," you whisper, feeling the full extent of the pain by saying it aloud. "The fire started in their apartment, all four of them were dead within a few minutes."

"God, Britt, I'm so sorry." Santana holds you tighter, pressing soft kisses into your hair. "How are you holding up?"

"I know it sounds horrible, but I hardly ever cry anymore when this happens. It hurts like hell, obviously, and I can't help but feel guilty, but we lose people too frequently," you say, grabbing Santana's hand that's draped across your stomach and lacing your fingers through hers. "Thinking about all the people we've saved lets me get through it."

"You're right. A lot of people are only alive today because of you, Britt, and if it helps at all, I plan on reminding you every single day how proud I am of you."

Tilting your head up to look at her, you brush back a strand of her hair that glows silver from the faint moonlight, and softly press your lips to hers, feeling the emotion you've been bottling up release as you slip your tongue between her parted lips, drowning in her kiss.

"I love you."

It slips out, a soft whisper against her lips when you pull back, but you wouldn't take it back, not when you know nothing else to be more true.

Santana's eyes widen, glowing like hot embers on a cool night. "You do?"

"Of course I do. You make me feel more special and incredible than I've ever felt before."

"You are, Britt, and you make me feel just as amazing." Her smile is impossibly wide, and you can't help but kiss her nose, making her laugh. "I love you too. God, I really, _really_ love you."

* * *

You start your mental list of things you're thankful for before you even open your eyes. When you wake up, Santana's head is tucked under your chin, and your arm is curled over her waist, keeping her close to you. Feeling her steady breaths, you smile, and bring a hand up to run through her silky dark hair. You're _definitely_ thankful for being able to wake up to Santana wrapped in your arms.

You keep up your tally all day. You're thankful for Sam, who goes down to Pavement early in the morning to bring back breakfast sandwiches and coffees for everyone. You're thankful for Mary, who spends the better part of the morning and afternoon making Thanksgiving dinner, and only lets you and Santana help a little– 'you're both guests, I don't care how long you lived in this house', she told you. You're thankful for Mike and Tina, who call you from Tina's aunt's house to wish you Happy Thanksgiving, and for all of your other firehouse friends. You're thankful for your dad, who listens as you tell him about the fire, and advises you how to move on.

Most of all, you're thankful for Santana. You're thankful she's your girlfriend, that she trusts you and believes in you, that she _loves_ you. You're thankful she let you bring her home for Thanksgiving, and for letting you love _her._

You have a lot to be thankful for.

"Sam, B, Santana, dinner's ready!" your dad calls from the kitchen. The three of you sit in front of the fireplace playing Monopoly, which you and Sam are pretty good at, but Santana is _awful_.

"Seriously, Britt? I've landed on your Boardwalk three times in the last five minutes, I've got no money left," Santana complains, and you laugh, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

"Come on, let's go eat dinner, I'll lend you one of my five-hundreds when we come back."

"No way, you've already 'lent' her half your money," Sam argues, and you turn around, sticking out your tongue at him.

"Sharing is caring," you deadpan, and Santana laughs, threading her fingers through yours as you walk into the dining room.

The table is full of food when you walk in, and you can't fight your grin when you see Santana's eyes widen, and the small smile that stretches across her lips.

After everyone sits down, you've all filled up your plates, and Mary says grace, your dad clears his throat.

"I know we all want to eat, but let's all say what we're thankful for first," he says, and looks at Mary. "Honey, you want to start?"

Mary says she's thankful to have everyone home, and that we're all healthy and happy. Your dad goes next, thankful for having kids he's so proud of. Sam jokingly says he's thankful for the food, and then that he's thankful for all of us and the firehouse.

"How about you go, Santana?" your dad says, and you grin, squeezing her hand under the table.

"Okay," Santana says, smiling at you, and then at your dad. "I'm thankful that you guys let me have Thanksgiving with you, because I haven't had a real one in a long time, so this is really special."

"We're so glad to have you, Santana," your dad assures, and Mary nods in agreement. "You're up, B."

"Well," you say, "I'm thankful for one thing: family. You guys, my firehouse family, and the girl sitting next to me. I'm so lucky to have all of you."

Your dad, Mary and Sam smile at you, Santana leans over to kiss your cheek, and you know you couldn't wish for anything more.

* * *

 **As always, the official art for this chapter, and the rest of the art for this fic, is on my Tumblr (snixxlixx) under the tab "fic art".**

 **Leave a review to tell me what you thought!**

 **-Dawson**


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